Of Feathery Memories
Boca Raton, FL
2025, Senior, Poetry & Spoken Word
I saw him in the bush and knew he was dying.
He had been my oddly speckled friend for years.
Red bill, spreading right up through eager eyes.
Tail wagging, with awkward bumps he flies
to greet me with the morning sun.
My mother warned me not to feed him,
the first time we met at the pond.
He’ll be here greeting everyone,
nudging all who fawn.
I welcomed him anyway.
Clumsy in both land and air,
but magnificent in the dewy waters.
He was my new friend during Covid,
All he asked for was a bite of sandwich,
Or a morsel of a chowder,
and he would follow me for an hour.
Soft nuzzling sounds.
Satisfied shucks of a language
I knew nothing of but understood.
I walked the coquina path, and he showed me his world.
Bristled woodlands, lily pads, bustling dragonflies.
A place just miles, but moons away.
Downy feathers, sturdy webbing. His mate.
Nestled in their home of leaves and twigs and fate.
And then one day, I came around
to feel just empty space.
An eerie silence, not unlike a calmy peace
before a raging storm.
And in the brush, I spotted him in shiny leaves of thorn.
A final respite for my sick and shaking friend.
What could I do? What could I do?
She must wonder where you are.
The park ranger came over to take a peek,
my grim discovery quaking, eyes closed to this world.
Can I take him to a wildlife refuge? I despaired.
I think he got into some rat poison, he declared.
No apology, no regret, just hard, black, facts
spilling over into my helplessness.
Nothing you can do.
You try to pick him up,
you’ll kill him from the shock.
With that, he walked with haste.
A light in my life snuffed out by a small chalky disc,
too tempting not to taste.
I stayed with him for hours,
Singing a gentle song
about sunshine, about rain, about anything.
Just so he knew I was there all along.
I stayed until he shook no more.
I left, cold and stiff from sitting.
Drained and empty from sadness.
The park ranger looked at me,
said nothing and nodded,
a recognition of my loss.
Though his eyes showed no gloss.
Just a few weeks later,
I forced myself to go.
Even if his absence haunts me
in every memory that flows.
When the ranger met me,
he pointed to a flock
of tiny little speckled angels
on the pond,
their mother taking stock.
The ranger looked beyond my gaze,
but spoke to me just the same.
I rid the place of poison,
so it never happens again.
I rid the place of poison,
so there is some happy end.
I never voiced these last moments.
It’s too hard – devastation into words.
But if asked if gentle dignity exists,
I’d say it’s for the birds.
Reflection
This poem is based off of an experience I had that I have lived with for several months now. I have never really been able to talk about what happened that day, but this poem allowed me to express my thoughts and feelings. It didn't give me closure, but instead I felt like I was paying appropriate tribute to my friend who died and would otherwise never be remembered. A casual poem seemed to be the best way for me to honor my duck (named Costello) because it reflects who he was - laid back but sensitive, open, and honest. The contest allowed me to communicate how strong our connection to nature can be, how it can change who we are and how we think about things. It also reminded me that a loss can lead to positive change - how my muscovy's death led to the park ranger stopping the use of rat poison in the park, ultimately helping to protect the future wildlife that lives there.