We were walking the dog, Demitria Sabanty

the big Boerboel Mastiff with the baby eyes, his name is Sophocles, which suits him, he’s always been one for theatrics, and you and I were lathered in heat, the sidewalk was hot coal, and

we were heading back, ’cause in the summer months the dog can only withstand ten minutes in the sun before his brawny bones begin to itch sweat, so we turned around, but Sophocles saw a tiny peanut of a critter, hobbling along the steaming pavement, and

we were watching him, his chunky legs squatting down in anticipation, then bursting up, he thundered, barreled, right for the little, trembling creature, it was a bird, a sparrow, she was hurt and couldn’t move her soft, fragile wings, then Sophocles yelped, and

we were yanking on the leash, his bowling ball head dragging us along, until you let go, you hurried—sad eyes—toward the broken sparrow, before Sophocles could snatch her up, scooping her into your smooth hands, you are always smearing fruity lotion over them, you petted her precious body as it quivered, and

we were talking it over, the sparrow staring up at us, she was our friend then, suddenly, and we laughed as the dog’s nose sniffed at her, cradled in your palm, his nose was wet, dripping curiously, he liked her too, it seemed, his barking melted into sweet quiet, which cheered us more, and

we were driving home, in the car we named her Matilda, while you consoled her tenderly, we thought she looked happy, we were all happy, so you made a makeshift home out of a UPS box,

she was our hospice care patient, then later you stepped out of the room for a fleeting moment, she safe

in her cocoon, and while you were gone, she died, and

we were thinking it was sad, shocking, how she had slipped away, but we agreed she had gone peacefully, in her new home, surrounded by loved ones, which comforted us both, and she was our bird, Matilda was good like you, then your sadness settled, I looked at you, recognizing your compassion as I would my own reflection, the truth of you.

UPEND

“THE MOMENT WAS ALL; THE MOMENT WAS ENOUGH.” – VIRGINIA WOOLF