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What the Robin Heard

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They lay down on a stretch of tended lawn in the shade of the largest oak tree. From up here, their merged shape resembled the hands on a watch dial indicating six o’clock. I looked at the dimming sky then back toward the humans. Uh, huh, that’s about right, I told myself. There’s plenty of time still to hunt for worms and insects. I hopped to a lower branch. “What will you miss the most?” The female asked. “The feeling of your ear against mine.” The male answered. The smell of your hair, the ocean in your eyes, the taste of your lips, the freckles on your breasts, the dip above your pubic hair. The male’s breast heaved. Only a robin could hear what the human didn’t say. “You know it’s for the best.” The female said. “I know.” The male agreed. I heard the silence gurgling in the male’s throat, its heart pounding, its hands shaking. Its fingers grasped the grass and pulled. The green blades cried. Sluthia called from our maple tree. “Where’s the food? The babies are st