“Mom, I used to be a bird; now I’m a kid.”

We dream a day when he will build his way
out of the blur, hold the words in his hands
and fumble through them like wishes. When the tears
will lessen and carry his song, a bright
buoyant cloud thunder, a bend of color
in the sun. He is singing if you listen.

We slowed down to hear his tune, to fidget
with insecurity, these awkward notes
that sound like waves of purple and gold. We
hold on to ourselves, on to him like calm,
walk like stray footprints, shadow and accord.


Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Categories: Writing

3 Comments on “Birdsong”

  1. December 23, 2014 at 5:42 pm #

    How we lose and find ourselves again. I am listening but I need to listen some more. Looks like. I wish you and your family a lovely holiday season. :D

    • December 23, 2014 at 5:47 pm #

      Yes, listening is difficult; it takes practice. I am still working on it too! Just when I think I have clarity and understanding, life shows me otherwise. Then I am back learning all over again. It’s a cycle right? We listen, we learn, we live.

      Happy Holidays Nomzi. I wish you peace this season and on into the new year.

      • December 24, 2014 at 11:50 am #

        I know. It’s a muscle that needs work for sure. Yes. I think it is a cycle. We can never become complacent. What a year. My goodness. Peace and love to you and your loved ones Dionne. Happy holidays. :D

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