AIRSHAFT BIRD

If I were to catch one of the ailing birds
I see in our airshaft—
one of the half-grown birds
that can’t fly—
and feel its lightness in my hand,
something would be wrong:
The bird might not be healthy
to let me pick it up in my hand;
the bird might be dying.

Once it is between my hands—
feeling almost like nothing, with no weight—
I would bring it outside,
where it might live
free from our airshaft.
But the bird, loosed, might just sit limply,
unable to run or fly.
And I would not see any place better
than the grass it is sitting on.

Thaddeus Rutkowski is the author of seven books, most recently Tricks of Light, a poetry collection. He teaches at Medgar Evers College and received a fiction writing fellowship from the New York Foundation for the Arts.