The Bird

Collectively, I recall my memories

-the scent of cooking food. the strange feeling of past recurring.-

and I weep. I weep for the girl who was. the frightened, negative, desolate baby bird.

delicate and nearly shattered. The poor thing that clipped its own wings continuously.

I weep. I weep for the girl who was then. the angry, disgusted hawk.

always on the prowl for things to hate. always on the defensive-

lying about the "hunter" who broke her, when it was the infant herself.

this hawk; angry outside. soft and torn up inside.

I weep. I weep for the girl who almost was not.

the sparrow who desperately tried to cry out, heard by

none.

the creature who was falling so fast from the tree, so silently, no one noticed the upcoming demise.

I weep. I weep for the girl saved. the dove so in love, she

fell into the safe arms of her mate. 

The dove who stayed purely because the only greater agony than life would be

an eternity without her lover.

And I weep. I weep for the girl who is. 

The robin who feels everything too intensely. The fowl who cares so feverishly for those around her,

it hurts herself almost more than those in pain.

I weep for the way she feels numb. I weep for her hidden suffering.

I weep for the way she clips her wings just as they start to grow again.

I weep because she only flies with her lover; and that experience is removed when she is alone.

I weep for her confused life of intense happiness, despair, love, and self hate.

I weep.