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Burying Sunshine

By Jim Whalen

Sunshine died on Friday.
My son discovered him,
stiff on the bottom of his cage
with tiny feet curling skyward.

A low sun offered us
the last shards of daylight
as my son placed his Sunshine
in a hole and covered him with soil.

That night I watched
a glorious moon rise
into a star pricked heaven—
a reflection of sunshine
that glistened in my child's eyes
as a mirror in a mirror—
while the chill of the earth
crept into the bones of my feet.

Copyright © 2002 Jim Whalen

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