The Little Bird’s Flight into the World
My fingers pinch her cheeks.
It feels like the last time.
Pigtails sprout out of her bob-cut hair,
And her eyes become bigger, more innocent.
I utter something between a laugh and a cry,
Hoping my daughter can’t hear the pain in my voice.
It feels like yesterday
When I would cradle her at my bosom.
Now she’s so tall that
She towers over me.
‘Call me,’ I say.
I shouldn’t have.
My voice is, after all,
On the verge of splitting apart
Like a log of wood.
She’s oblivious to my pain,
Of course, her young head filled with young dreams.
‘Let her go,’ a voice inside me whispers.
And I do
Just that.
My arm leaning on the doorframe
Is the only vestige of support
I get at that moment
As I see my young flower
Going out into the sun
And I feel as if I am suspended
In thin air
From in between a forefinger and a thumb.
‘Let her go.’
‘I don’t want to,’ I feel like screaming,
As I watch her
Become smaller and smaller.
I can almost see wings
Sprout from her shoulder blades.
My young bird
Has gone out to fly,
And I?
I let the shadows eat up
Whatever sunshine my life had left till now.
