I Killed Two Blackbirds

They lie on their backs on the warm tiles, a male and a female.

I hope they are resting, in shock, and will spring back to their feet to fly away in a few minutes.

I know they won’t.

The female’s spindly legs twitch and jerk; her eyes are shut.

The male’s yellow beak opens and closes as he gasps for breath.

It’s my fault. At least I feel responsible.

At this time in the morning the sun turns the windows on the bedroom doors into a mirror, reflecting the explosion of vibrant bougainvillea on the hedge that climbs along the side wall.

This morning I only opened one door. If I’d opened both there would have been no reflection.

The female’s legs stop twitching and her head lolls to the side, she’s gone.

If there had been no reflection the pair of blackbirds wouldn’t have flown into the glass.

The ebony bird’s beak is still and his eyes slowly close. Within seconds he has followed his mate.

At least they died together.

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