A journal of narrative writing.
I'm Told God Counts the Sparrows

Throwing seeds to the dark snow,

I found a sparrow near the door.

It lay where heat seeped to it, our warmth.   

I used the empty seed bag to lift it up. 

A broken part like a bony ear

jutted from its forehead.   

I shuddered it into the garbage,

hurried to close the ties. Ted said

what he thought was a plastic bag  

at the roadside was the body of a woman

hit by a car. His son had to tell him stop

When the cops came, Ted was their suspect,  

breath audible, terrified face.

Hours passed before they let him go. 

Ted's an officer of the church.   

I don't know why I never liked Ted. 

He's been asking about guilt, about

redemption, the same questions I ask.