and never a word was spoken...

...and never a word was spoken
By Arlene Levin  (c) 2019


On my way to the subway,                   
It was a perfect, warm Spring day
The morning sun, bright, clear
I was young,
20 something
Just married
 My whole life lay before me.

A very old man approached
He walked with a bit of a shuffle.
A loose jacket, baggy pants
An old felt-hat with a brim,
He was out for his morning walk.

The newly born baby bird
Lay in the grass.
Its wings fluttered
Beating against the air,
A primal will to fly, to escape.

Together the old man and I 
Stood helpless as the baby bird
twisted in its death throws.

Slowly the old man bent over
And gently picked up the bird.
Tenderly he held the baby 
In his gnarled arthritic hand.
Together we stood mourning,
Grief at the spectacle of 
life and death.

Pink,featherless,blind
After a moment of two
The baby died.
The old man placed the bird
Under the tree it probably fell from.

The significance was clear.
Young, old, life death,
It all stood before us.
It was us.
We exchanged sad smiles
and knowing nods.

He returned to his morning walk.
I went on to the subway. 
A distant memory I carry.
A moment in time
A moment of truth shared
And never a word was spoken.