First Flight

Standard

The young bird hops,
into my open garage.

Head hunched
it studies the veined floor
like a map; lost traveler
cast low from
wooded heights,

and lifts to its mother
a raspy cry.

Too early from the nest
fearful of the sky,
unsure of tender wings,
not able to fly,
it’s helpless.

I want to hold it,
feel its heart
tremble in my gentle hands

return it
to shredded nest,
or,
like a prayer,
cast it high to heaven
and watch it fly
or fall,

but I do nothing

when echoing its mother’s call
the youngster stumbles out the door
and into the still street –

Breathless,
I watch mother bird
diving near
as the fledgling
rises
into familiar air.

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