A bird in my chest nibbles for any worm she can get –
she’s awoken and alive and can’t seem to forget
how it feels to nudge out the nest and fly away
to all the places and spaces that beckon she stay.
The wings flap and they flip with each golden feather
curious and aching to rise out into the weather
of a brisk afternoon or a stormy black night —
she has miles to go and now must take flight.
There’s a bird in my chest where my heart used to be
and her beating wings ask just one thing of me:
‘Let us go, let us rise, let us move through this world–
it has been much too long since my wings have unfurled.’
So I stand up and I grasp the only chest that I’ve known
I rip open the edges — so that my bird may fly home.