Rattled

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