A Child Feeding the Birds

For my niece, Maha

For a while,
Let this be enough.

You are standing in your winter overcoat,
The two crimson ends of your scarf
Hanging down like a pair of wings,
Or maybe two rivers of blood,
Love-colored, complete.

The fat pigeons peck at your feet.
They have seen the bag of seed
In your hands. And even as you dip
Into it, they are setting themselves up
For the soft frenzy of feeding.

You pull out a handful
And fling it into the air,
Whirling around to make sure
Every bird gets its fair share.
You are careful and honest

And where you stood
There is now a red haze
From which the birdseed scatters
Like a shower of dreams
And makes quiet hearts flutter.