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.