29 September 2021: Rattled
Ba-whoosh
Eyes wide.
I fear my heart.
A toddler bird attempting to fly,
its wings fumble.
Sometimes, it tumbles.
In the deep of the night: Ba-whoosh.
My mind races,
yanking the bird along on a string.
I suck air, profound,
to right its flight.
Beside me, love breathes
regular: my ideal lullaby.
But the nest is warm – too warm –
I turn, stretch out, reset.
Then, leaning in, peering close
at my chest, I lift a knuckle
to rap at my birdcage:
Tap, tap, tap!
Is it as an aquarium,
louder inside?
Do I quake the earth?
Rage the tide?
My eyes peer in,
curiosity, not accusation –
less a gaoler
than a keeper:
“What, precisely, are you
doing in there, little bird?”
It replies quiet with
arighted rhythm.
Still, no explanation.
Perhaps imagination?
Not what it seems,
but a dream?
No matter what,
my mind finds ease:
all is well; all is well.
Tonight is not the night.
~Meg Vlaun
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