Trapped Bird in Hospital Corridor by Kate Peterson
A bird trapped in a house, they say, is good luck.
I think of telling you this when we find three
in the empty fireplace. But I say nothing.
In the hospital the children are all asleep, curtain drawn.
It's as if the sun never came out today; too much clouds.
I wait it out. A child screams down the hall, no! no!
no. Just this morning those small words were in my mouth.
A bell rings down the hospital halls when a baby is born.
I wonder what sound I might make--
wings fluttering against a pane of glass.
I think of telling you this when we find three
in the empty fireplace. But I say nothing.
In the hospital the children are all asleep, curtain drawn.
It's as if the sun never came out today; too much clouds.
I wait it out. A child screams down the hall, no! no!
no. Just this morning those small words were in my mouth.
A bell rings down the hospital halls when a baby is born.
I wonder what sound I might make--
wings fluttering against a pane of glass.
Kate Peterson earned her MFA in poetry from Eastern Washington University in Spokane, where she lives and works as an adjunct professor. Her poems have been published in Medical Literary Messenger, Barnstorm, and Eat This Poem, among others. She has poetry forthcoming in The Examined Life Journal and The Sierra Nevada Review. Her feeble attempt at a website can be found here.
