A Morning Between Life and Death

Out my window, above the loblollies,
clouds mask the morning,
threatening snow and ice.
The glass needs a good cleaning,
coated by the nose-smudged breath
of Clover—our neighbor’s dog,
whose sleek spotted coat shines warm
against winter, her wagging tail
an exclamation of hunger and habit.

We bought her the bed on our porch,
a grand gesture for a creature
already loved. Each morning
she scurries to the window
pressing snout to pane,
barking us into action.

Treats in hand, I tap the glass.
Her tongue unfurls into a pant,
spit glistening, curiosity colliding
with our reflections.

Then, a loud thud, then another,
and another, as a sparrow hurls
itself against the window,
each attempt more desperate,
in the cold hand of winter.

She drops to Clover’s bed,
her tiny feet trembling
in the brutal, brittle air,
her wings fluttering
like a leaf in autumn’s final gust,
before winter sets in.
Clover pounces over,
snatches the sparrow
into her mouth and dashes away.

Birds live longer in summer,
their lives a season,
substantial one moment,
ethereal the next. I return
Clover’s treats to the cabinet.
until tomorrow, when she arrives
at my window, tail swishing,
breath clouding our reflections.

By: Richelle Putnam

Richelle Putnam is an award-winning author, Mississippi Arts Commission (MAC) Arts Integration Specialist, Mississippi Humanities Speaker, and two-time Mississippi Arts Commission Literary Arts Fellow. She holds an MA in Creative Writing and certificates in songwriting and guitar from Berklee College of Music and ukulele from ArtistWorks. Her work explores themes of grief, emotional inheritance, and redemption through character-driven narratives. A lifelong learner, she believes in daring to dream, discover, and do—at any age. Learn more at www.richelleputnam.com