William Crawford Philadelphia, USA

Country Bluebird Reimagined

she cradles a bluebird in the palm of her right hand,

hidden

she feels no need to show it to you

to tell you

about the warmth of its tiny belly

the way it rises and collapses against her palm

it’s an honest heartbeat, an honest breath, quickened by

the fear of human stain

simply an evergreen truth, a sacred bond, unbroken

a poem that writes/rites/rights itself if you could see her eyes

at this moment

you would understand the soft surprise

of this sudden warmth

the way they see far beyond

all of this

even while closing

if you could see her eyes at this moment

you would understand

that the secret of flight is revealed in life

in the light

she can only be the source of

how else could it weave

itself in and out of her in the way that it does? such a graceful lacing

how else could it walk

both beside her and inside of her yet never falter, never fade?

far beyond the bitter green hiss of heat and frustration,

of small animal

caught in the canebrakes, left for dead

where the music is always composed in minor key and the wind whips

up a familiar threnody low and lonesome

there’s an altar,

a limestone cathedral,

a tower and a bell ringing urgent, wide open emergency

a plangent plea for peace

in the valley of her mind

still verdant, still pure,

even in the slatternly

shadows of these spires

you see

it was always her eyes

first

they told a story even at half-moon

they elucidated the secret of flight same as life

spoke volumes of the energy in a bird’s wing when released

they held you reflected you when you were

at your most fragile

treasuring the touch which, let’s face it, still is the purpose, the point

never a word of dying for she knows

it says nothing at all

of this bird

blue but unbroken in the palm

of her hand rising

without the crushing weight of surrender

or farewell.

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