I pulled a box closer, grabbed hold of the flaps
“Wait!” thought the wing-broken bird when it opened
but there in the corner it trembled, it begged
for some kind of solace or rescue or way
to fly out of the box in front of my face
to show me its pain without leaving a trace
No, not just any pain, no, not just any—
There was more in the box: a bracelet, some keys,
a coffee stain under the feathers that fell
when the bird tried, yet failed, to cheep chirp for help
The failure was due to shoddy reception,
the kind that spoke only frowns and rejection
I reached in and fondled the feathers that fell
gathered them, placed them inside my large conch shell,
then the colors of courage started to drip
from that sad broken wing—what beauty, what grace!
All changes begun in a color-filled whirl
to nudge the bird out into wide open space
Checkerboard Collective 