The Little Things

"He's...?"
My voice lingered
in the cold kitchen
on a cold morning.
My Fruit Loops swirled
in a sea of colored milk,
colored too happily for such a day.
"...Dead."
My mother finished
the thought in my head
that I could not.
My eyes stared
past her to an empty cage,
one that can never and will never
truly be refilled.
My little friend,
goodbye.