The Blue in the Bird

I am not like the
Momma bird who pushed me
From her nest. She’s the
Eastern bluebird, easy to spot
Easy to identify, all the
Straightforward qualities of
An uncomplicated thrush that sits
Still, then quickly alights,
Uncomplicated in our lives.

I am my Daddy’s daughter–
Heavy layers of brown I drag around, with
That something saggy dangling from my chin
Which no one can look away from,
And I’m a sorry mess
Wandering around in a stranger’s
Yard, chasing a friend I never
Quite catch up with, the
Sleek deer or the overzealous
Beagle, just a little wishing to
To chat and say
Hello.

I am Momma’s daughter,
Though, still with wings that
Carry me unsteady over the
Road when I need to go, and with that
Bit of blue around my eyes, I’ve been
Seen as occasionally beautiful in my
Own way, with just enough sense to
Show myself when you pine for life to
Spring again, but to disappear into
The hedge, my way to send your day’s
Shadows into longing again.

One Comment

  1. Mary Sherman

    Love this like I can’t explain. “I am Daddy’s daughter” has me all over the place (died last year/youngest and only daughter). “I am Momma’s daughter.” Never was but she broke my heart open in the most beautiful way 3 weeks before her passing, deep into Alzheimer’s.
    Now you’ve gone and broken my heart open too…that’s the beauty of life/poetry/sharing/blogging.
    Blessings!
    M

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