my bird

my bird 

you are out of bed 

and out the door 

fire in your belly 

laughter spills out 

tears and raindrops 

quick as a fox, 

hungry as a bear

your appetite is endless

but you’re satisfied 

you will devour, 

all color and sound 

facts and flavors 

you grow like a wildflower

and leave a trail

of sparks and spitfire

tulips and honeysuckle

recycling rain

into tears and 

water for the plants 

there are molehills and mountains

dumpsters and fountains

and you face each one

with tenacity and grace

it’s okay to stop,

slow mornings & deep thoughts

it’s okay to break down,

it’s okay to break pots

feel the anger and the pain 

you won’t be stuck

you can’t be trapped

by rule or reaction

by expectation

by shifting sand 

or the shadow of yourself 

i see something

that i hope you can see

but i know it’s hard to be

it’s hard to hug yourself

like you hug me

but i love to see the moments

you look at your photo 

you glance in the mirror 

and smile like

you smile at the flowers

the sunset and the trees

my bird, love you

like you love me 

exactly where i am

be present, you say 

but i look to the future 

the ditch is a creek 

the creek is a river

the pond is a lake

the lake is a sea

and i stand on the shore

before jumping in

but wait a second

look at the flowers,

growing in the ditch

purple violets and clover, 

hyacinth and tulips 

it reminds me of spring 

and of being young 

and picking the iris buds 

before they even bloomed

orange tiger lilies, yellow daffodils 

watered by dirty,

storm drain overflow

the magnolia trees 

a magnet for the birds

soaking sunlight, 

drinking moon water

every time you notice

you think you’ve never noticed

you remember that you’re here

and you’ve been missing it

you’re now, in this moment

thoughts of the past 

tie into today

but still i look ahead 

the trails are sidewalks 

and sidewalks are roads 

& the roads are highways

highways to the future 

no roadblocks or construction

i pass the dead ends 

and cul de sacs

i don’t glance at developed houses

clean suburbs or new apartments 

because settling is suicide

homebodies are stagnant

retirement is the first step

in the decision to die

it’s too much to consider

too much to think about

so i look ahead

i watch the sunset

which feels like the end, 

but makes me wonder

about tomorrow’s sunrise

will i sleep tonight

how will i get by

how many days til payday

what time is my appointment

am i gonna be late for work 

am i braced for disappointment

then im tripping on the curb

& im hearing the birds sing

back to the current moment

back to the same street

and i don’t like this feeling

because i don’t like being with me

my body’s in the past

my head ahead of me

here i get the headache

feel the heartache underneath

split or torn, or separated

the past and future me

sunlight, get in my eyes

wind, blow through my hair

help me notice the colors 

and hear the rain 

and see the pain 

In the eyes of my friend 

feel my feet on the ground, 

in my boots again

exactly where i am

we keep standing

it was a long winter

but we stayed warm

bundled like babies

nervous and pale 

still smiling though, 

leaving the oven open 

and the heater on high

the apartment window

is cluttered with plants 

and the thin windows

let in the sirens, the fights 

and the laughter outside of missie b’s

lull us to sleep 

i see the traffic slow

and pick up before morning 

underneath a billboard 

that i never want to see again 

the streets are lined with hardwoods 

walnuts on one side, 

sycamores on the other

maples and pines

we walk in the morning

on the frosty ground 

we watch it change 

the dirt gets darker

the grass starts growing 

clover and violets emerge 

daffodils open up

the sun begins to feel warm

it’s easier to wake up

it’s easier to laugh

and i don’t know 

how many nights we didn’t sleep 

or how many strange dreams

and slow mornings we had

but we keep on living 

and i don’t know 

how many people 

see us swordfight on the sidewalk

spinning around, spilling coffee

or running to the car

with dirty clothes 

and muddy boots

& leftover lunches

it was a long winter, but it really is spring 

the streets are lined with new blooms

marked with potholes 

blocked off and scraped up 

repave and rewrite 

scrap everything to pave a new path, 

we’re on the move, with new dreams

ready for the risk, leaping into the void

thirsty for a new challenge

with pockets full 

of questions and quarters

eyes lit with excitement, 

and steady with hope

i don’t know how many babies laugh, 

when they see spring for the first time 

but we keep on laughing 

i don’t know how many flowers 

shot up overnight, fighting for the sun

but we keep on fighting

i don’t know how many sycamores

stand in kansas city 

but we keep on standing