We lost Henry on Sunday, my wife and I,
Our hearts fractured as he took off
More than a bird, than an African Grey
Her companion since childhood
They sprouted together,
blossoming into adulthood
She travelled the world, he waited for her
She fell in love, I spent years earning his trust
“Henry comes first,” she told me
So I whistled along to his tune,
brought him peanuts, fresh fruit
He laughed, mocked, bit,
crashed date nights, pooped on my shoes
When I asked for her hand,
he gave his blessing, to my surprise,
just as long as we didn’t leave him behind
Henry moved in with us, my adopted Grey
Over time, I became a member of his flock
We exchanged daily pecks,
beak to nose, nose to beak
Our hearts were full, even as a stroke
weakened his, his spirit never declined
Growing more fragile over months, we cared
for him, administering food, medicine, aid
Last night, his heart began to give way,
becoming infantile, child-like
in her arms, wrapped in a blanket
I looked on beside them as she made peace
“You have to go now,” she said
Her assertive words pierced my chest
as I watched her say goodbye to her best friend,
her first love, letting him go, his first solo flight.
Raj Tawney is a poet, essayist and journalist in New York. His work has appeared in New York Magazine, MIT’s Undark Magazine, The Ecologist and many other publications around the world. He is a featured poet in The Iowa Review’s 2020 National Poetry Month series. You can visit him at rajtawney.com.