Laura Kelsey, Featured World Poet from Canada!

Featured Poet Laura Kelsey

In 2006, Laura Kelsey self-published a compilation of selected poems called Passion before Perfection. The book’s publication process, up to and including seeing her words in print, inspired Laura to enrol in an intensive professional writing program, graduating with a diploma and a $1,000 scholarship.

After growing up in the After growing up in the Lower Mainland, Laura now lives in the South Cariboo of British Columbia and appreciates each day as a chance to learn.

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Yellow Bird

 I hope it wasn’t my window that you hit.
Or rather
it wasn’t my invisible glass barrier that you didn’t understand—
couldn’t have seen—
that hit you,
that shocked the air
out of your tiny lungs. I found you
in the front yard
one leg on the lawn
and one on the winding cement pathway.
I scooped you up in one hand
your body rolling over in my palm.
I took my new heels out of their box
and put you in it. Then we sat
together
on the porch. Through the sounds
of busy traffic
I could hear your tiny beak snap shut
over and over
as you gasped for air, willing your body
to breathe again. I put seeds in the box.
But you liked bugs, not seeds.
You looked up at me
with eyes the size of pinheads;
there was no way
I could discern where your pupils ended
and your irises began, or if you even had any.

And then I heard her.
You probably heard her first,

even though your ears were so much smaller
and inner.
I heard her calling for you
and I saw you strain to call back.
She was flitting about the yard.
You were trying to stand, to scream
to yell to your mate,
“I’m here! Don’t forget me!”
So I went inside
hoping she would find you.
I surfed the internet to pass some time.
But when I stepped back on the porch
your eyes were sealed shut.

I lifted your body in my hand again
and wondered how you became so cold,
so stiff,
so fast.
I looked around the yard. The wind moved
the trees, but nothing else. No more calls.
I left you on the porch, hoping she would find you
so she could understand
that you were dead.

It’s night now, and I couldn’t bear
to leave you outside in the cold dark.
But it’s not like you care.

Because somewhere out there
there’s a bird sleeping alone tonight.
Every few seconds she looks up
from her nest
filled with tiny brown eggs
and hopes to see you.
She can’t sleep
because every noise she hears
in her small, inner ears
could be you
returning with the bugs
that you promised. She wonders who will keep her
eggs warm while she looks for food.
She wonders why you left. And I wonder
why I didn’t smash every window
in my house before you set out that day.

Laura Kelsey (C)