tree

Friday, September 20, 2019

The birds know, better than we do 
How to sing 
To nest, to winter 

We, with our man made wings are always trying to be something we are not 
(g)od, if we could be, 
with our towers to heaven, 
Our face paint 
Our laughter when we are dying inside 
(It always looks like your life is wonderful)

I do not have a face that can lie anymore and sometimes it is the death of the day, the sourness 
But it took me years to learn how to cry and forgive 
It took me years to find joy in turning over the soil,
Or the way the light presses his chest up against the windowsill
 but I had to say no to many things to get here 

I always wondered why old people were always talking about birds 
Why a bluebird made my grandpa light up
(I hope he is covered in them now)

Now I understand 
There are many griefs on this earth

We can focus on them
The winters of life

Or we can find birds.