The sparrow trapped inside the range hood just above the fan
Had no space in there to spread her wings
And fly back out the way she'd come.
Her tiny guano oozed out through the flimsy grate,
And I could see and hear a wingtip now and then
As she fluttered and rested, fluttered and rested.

Just as I'd decided I would pop the grate ajar
And try to catch her in a pillowcase, she burst out
And fluttered desperately against the kitchen windows.
I ran down the stairs to get a blanket to catch her in
And heard a thud on my way back and thought, "The cats!"
But the thud turned out to be her airy body

Whacking up against the big glass door she'd hit
When flying through the living room, accelerating
To escape but falling stunned and trembling on the floor.
One of the cats was sniffing her with curiosity
When I approached, the sparrow lying on her side
And barely twitching, eyes closed and feet relaxed.

When I slid the door ajar, I felt the cool December
Air and had a tiny hope that she could feel it, too,
When off she went, unscathed it seemed to me.
I watched her fly away as fast as she could go
Until she disappeared between the buildings,
And I was happy, awed, relieved I'd saved her.

After our respective desperations also flew
Away, it hit me that one bird saved
Would not delay the decimation of the birds for long.
She was a common sort at that, adapted for the most part
To our wasteful, dirty ways, and then I cried
Because I can't save thousands much worse off as well.

That universal symbol of freedom was caught
By the inanimate and trivial range hood
And then stopped suddenly and brutally by cold hard glass.
If only her escaping wing beats in the cool December air
In that moment at the door redeemed me, cleansed me
From the wrongs that humans do to Nature and each other.

2006