Rattled


29 September 2021: Rattled


Ba-whoosh


Eyes wide.


I fear my heart.

A toddler bird attempting to fly,

its wings fumble.

Sometimes, it tumbles.


In the deep of the night: Ba-whoosh.


My mind races,

yanking the bird along on a string.

I suck air, profound,

to right its flight.


Beside me, love breathes

regular: my ideal lullaby.

But the nest is warm – too warm –

I turn, stretch out, reset.


Then, leaning in, peering close

at my chest, I lift a knuckle

to rap at my birdcage:

Tap, tap, tap!


Is it as an aquarium,

louder inside?

Do I quake the earth?

Rage the tide?


My eyes peer in,

curiosity, not accusation –

less a gaoler

than a keeper:


“What, precisely, are you

doing in there, little bird?”

It replies quiet with

arighted rhythm.


Still, no explanation.

Perhaps imagination?

Not what it seems,

but a dream?


No matter what,

my mind finds ease:

all is well; all is well.

Tonight is not the night.


~Meg Vlaun

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