When I was a teenager I discovered the joy of journaling; it served as a safe outlet for my thoughts, fears, doubts, hopes and secrets. Today I experience writing as a sort of meditative practice, and “Little Bird”, the first poem I ever wrote, was born from that practice.
It was 2014 and I was living in Switzerland, far from my family and closest friends in the US, and in a season of transition. I had found courage to leave a difficult workplace dynamic and an injurious romantic relationship, but I did not know what was next.
Calling it a "season of transition" seems accurate in retrospect, but at the time I felt a great sense of uncertainty. Dr. Joan Borysenko refers to this as
"The No Longer - The Not Yet"
Uncertainty exists between these two. I knew I could no longer remain in my circumstances, but I did not yet know where life would lead. In the midst of this uncertainty I took to my writing practice religiously, and found comfort and perspective through the voice of this poem.
Little Bird
Oh bird
You will one day fly again
That thud on the ground
That thud that broke you down
It did not break your little wings
No!
But you were wounded
You were wounded in the nest
In fact, when you learned to fly you really weren’t so free
Not as free as I intended you to be
My precious little bird
So take that thud
Those months of breaking down
And learn
Learn to breathe again
Learn to crawl and to walk
And when your wounded wings have healed, little bird, you will fly
You’ll fly along the breeze
You’ll fly in my sun’s warm light
You’ll spread your wings
You will take flight!
You’ll see, as you never saw before
The edge of the ocean
The sea and its shore
You’ll find that you’re at home wherever you and the breeze be carried
And you’ll trust that with mended wings
The sky is a lot less scary
Little bird
Give it time
(your mending)
Don’t rush it
Give it time
To enjoy the grass underneath your feet
and the food that you eat
and the woodland creatures
and other wounded birds that you meet
On the ground
Take it all in
Drink it up
This grassy rest I’m giving you now
Little bird
It’s a gift, from me
Just as is the breeze
You will fly again
And perhaps you’ll even soar
But for now little bird don’t want for more
Say thanks for the grass
The friends and gifts on the ground
And worry not my precious
I will always be found -
In the shadow of a tree
just around the bend
And in the silver, bright lining of the clouds in a dark sky
I will always be found
I am always right by
Your side
My precious little bird