Matthew WappettOn The Morning After The First Resurrection
I.My five year old daughter dug up a dead bird
Behind my back
While looking for a flag for our castle
Among the dessicating
Piles of kelp washed ashore from last night’s storm.From the corner of my eye I saw her standing
Holding the stringy
Waterlogged cormorant by it’s long hooked beak;
Face turned upwards
At an unnatural angle towards the sea and skyShe stood looking intently into the inky black
Feathers and face
Wondering how this diving bird had ended up
under nine inches
Of freshly deposited sand and kelp.She held it there for a moment longer than I expected
Then gently laid
The limp bird down, slowly lowering the fragile head
Cradling the snake
Like neck with atypical care.She grabbed her plastic pink sand shovel
And began to dig
A proper resting place for her deceased discovery
And laid it in
The thoughtfully excavated, shallow grave.Sand and seashells piled on top to create
An impromptu monument to a simple seabird.
II.
Later that evening we walked home
Worn down by the wind and cold spring sea.
Her small hand in mine she asked if we could return
To the beach
Tomorrow.I asked why?
And in the simple language of a child
She said she wanted to see
if her bird would come alive again
In the morning.With my faith in a child
Just so
We will return again to see the sandy grave
and
What change has been wrought through her bird
Twice-buried.
Pismo Beach, California
Spring 2006.
Bio:
Matthew Wappett is a a displaced Alaskan, a poet-in-development and a full-time father. In his other life, he is an assistant professor at the Center for Disabilities and Human Development at the University of Idaho. This is his first published poem.
