Pond

The bird swooped from such a height
we never saw it coming
her eye on the carcass
on the muddy slopes of the pond
my children with chatter and questions follow
we can’t know what it was,
what life lay down to such a rough funeral

we throw broken crumbs to the fish alive
they jump in anticipation
as the arc of white puffy bread flies,
my children delight in this chore,
this feeding of unnamed fish

I unfurl my giving in lunches,
laundry and time
making ripples wide and even
while the stone of my love lies
on the bottom of what becomes
their whole life long