Freedom

Looking at the birds, 

fluttering around on a branch

overhead.

They are hopping on the ground,

beaks, pecking the pine needles

Expecting to find something

As I peck at the seemingly dry ground

I expect to find a drop of water

or a hidden cavern

leading to a new green pasture

The moment my beak hits the ground

The blue sky turns to billowing gray masses

covering any trace of warm, glowing sun

yet a drop of water hits the very spot

of dry, dusty earth

The drop, shaped like a tear

Reflects my face, 

My features become a misshapen oval head

and I sip the drop into my parched mouth

Another drop falls at my feet, and then I feel

a cool drop on my head, another on my back and 

moments later they begin rolling off my oily feathers

Soon I am standing in a small pool

Memory of dryness creeps into my thoughts

And the sun instantly bakes me into a crispy mess

like burnt bacon

I look up and see the birds on the branch

and remember that I must simply put

my beak to the dry ground.

I lower my head

In expectation of the rain

that will soon fall 

and quench my every need.

Chest pounding.
An ache that reminds me of getting run over by a car.
The tire tracks riding straight over my heart.

Remember the kisses on each eyelid, each cheek, then the chin, the forehead
sometimes the top of my head.

I love you all the way to the moon and back.
Now I know what that really means.
I'm on the moon, looking back.
And I peer in the window of our home
our  hearts
And I want to thank you for those hugs, and kisses
And the bedtime prayers

Thank you for bouncing the ball in the house
for leaving your shoes in the middle of the floor
for dropping your book bag in the kitchen

Thank you for taking out the trash
For doing your homework
Thank you for showing me your feelings
For telling me that you were sad, but you didn't know why

Thank you for touching my necklace
And asking me why people cry.

Thank you for riding circles around me on your bicycle
Thank you for letting me try to pitch 100 baseballs to you
in the pouring down rain on a fall day, in the dark
Because you wrote each of your spelling words, ten times.
And each word you put on the paper earned you a pitch from me
And when we got to the 67th pitch, you said,
"Let's go inside mamma. It's raining, and it's dark."

Right now, its raining  in my soul

And I pray the rain will help germinate
a small seed of hope
That will grow
And take the place of my loss