I didn't plan to write a sequel to the previous poem entitled "Wounded Bird". But today I found myself jotting the following in my Moleskine: "You have this mostly right, but not entirely." Whoa--Who said, that??!, I asked myself.
It seems there is more to be said--directly from the Wounded Bird herself.
I fly from necessity
Hovering over leafy trees and endless water,
Following an unestimable path from home
Only to return again,
Where I’ll find my roots and rhythm
Deeply tucked in grainy sand.
I do not question why I do this--
This destiny of family and fate--
What I cannot fathom I will not change.
My 12 feather tail and meager wing span
Weigh in below two ounces,
Not enough for my survival
And yet I maneuver and endure,
I doggedly sing my song
And tuck my broken wing
Under my expanding and rapid chest
Until I know if
I might fly again.
If I should die here
Unable to lift myself beyond this place
I will fly anyway
Straight to this indominable future
Where I will be an African River Martin
tending and fending
Reaching still and always,
Weightless in my belief
That I was born for just this moment.