There are no gulls outside
beyond the rain kissed window
pane. No shrieking sound that
keeps all up at night awake.
The pigeons are feeding,
grey squirrels are foraging
but there is a magpie perched
quietly, perfectly visible, tapping
its beak against the glass
from its position
on the windowsill.
It is waiting to steal
mothers’ soul, extract her spirit
from within the growth of her
cancer, ready to take and inhale
her last breath. The magpie just
waits. But mothers’ strength is
strong, as she rises with the
morning song of sparrows,
singing at the sight of
dawn. The magpie will return
tomorrow but St. Peregrine
will stand and guard her spirit,
her health and defend her soul.