A few weeks before he died
Grandpa told me a story
about a man in jail
who had no friends
except the pigeons and doves
who came to his window
each afternoon
to eat the scraps of food he’d offer,
a piece of fruit,
a bowl of water
and, pretty soon,
the birds were tame enough
to let the man reach through the bars
and touch their beating chests.
The man would whisper his sorrow
of all he’d done wrong
the crimes he’d committed
the hurt he’d caused.
Grandpa said
when the birds had finished eating
they’d fly away
and with them went the man’s guilt
for all the bad things he’d done in his life.
Grandpa said the birds
saved that man’s life,
so every day
before leaving home
I pick an apple
from the tree in our garden
and I take it to school
and leave it lodged in the tree branch
for the birds
and for Grandpa.