The Jewel by DS Maolalai

I remember being 10

and the bird. it must

have been roadkill

but it was whole and the wings

were undamaged – perhaps

it had died in mid-flight and had spiralled

to earth like a sycamore seed. a blue jewel

pile in the middle of the road

in the countryside, where we

were on holidays. I was

alone. I was seeing

this alone, understanding

religion. I waited for traffic,

then stepped out and held it,

quite soft in the cup

of my palm and my fingers – soft

in the centre of the road.

and I stood there just

holding it and a car

stopped quite fast

just in front of me. a guy

got out yelling – I thought

there was something

I must do. held up both hands

to his pointing angry finger

like I'd dipped them

into a puddle

of diamonds.

---

“Saccharine garbage. No point of view. Could have been written by anyone. Didn’t even happen.”

DS Maolalai (he/him) of Dublin in Ireland, has received eleven nominations for Best of the Net and seven for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in three collections, most recently “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022). He can be found on Twitter @diarmo1990