"Have you seen the birds?
They're lovely.
Come this way,"
said the director
pushing my mother's wheelchair
before her.
And suddenly
in an alcove behind glass
there they were
and ringed round them,
the old ladies
in their chairs.
"The residents love them,"
the director said
as she stopped
and locked
the wheels
of my mother's chair.
We watched birds
nesting, eating,
busy in their strange home:
temperature controlled
professionally cleaned
all needs cared for.
My mother made a move
leaned forward
tried to speak.
"Yes?" asked the director
and answered herself,
"Such a treat. We're very lucky."
My mother held in place
gargled a sound
stretched
out her hand
eyes locked on the glass
words locked in her throat.
Her hand trembling
in its reach
fluttering
in its speech
fell
to her lap.
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