I wanted to write a poem
to celebrate the fragility of mortality
The small bones in which hold up arms, wings
are easily snapped by the pressure wave of life
and yet we strive.
a wave in the grass and alarms draw me near
small gasping that only
the mother robin can hear
sniffing licking prancing, the neighbors dog jumps
at my hoarse cry
running with a helicopter tail
as I recover her fun.
The tiny wings tremble
featherless he shivers
rice sized heart thrumming with the life force
of blood coursing through his developing veins.
scarlet pinpricks adorn his pink fleshy body
He is so small.
So helpless
eyes only a fraction smaller then his head
crack open
fear and panic filling their silken depths
and I try
gentle as the soft caress of summer breezes
to lift him into the warm cocoon of my scarf.
breast fluttering
a body the size of half my palm
I cradle him.
Slowly he snuggles closer, young purple beak
burrowing into the soft paisley fabric.
and a love for this baby bird fills my heart and
eyes
with a sadness at the cruelty of this world
Because even as he snuggles
in a few hours he is taken from this world to the next
The elements and the shock too much
for his exposed soul to handle
His small body left cold and curled in the nest i attempted
to cradle him in...
laying the baby robin into the cool dark earth
I felt my airway seize
at the quick surety of death
so young.
And as my tears water his grave
I am reminded how precious this gift is
This gift of life, of love
of wings we grow to soar these skies
vibrant only because of it's short span of discovery
It will be over before we know it
So let us live
let us soar for those baby birds who's wings were broken
before they ever learned to fly
let us be free
*and alive.