These days have been dark and hard, and though it feels a bit strange to promote something personal at the present time, my hope is that it brightens your spirits some and gives you an opportunity to seek tiny bits of beauty in your own day.
In the coming days and weeks, I will sharing more information about a few New Bird related events I'll be doing, virtual and real life (a virtual poetry reading? poems hidden around Boston? a giveaway?), so stay tuned. And if you do get a copy of the collection, send me a note and let me know what your favorite poem is or how they are resonating with you. I'd absolutely love to hear.
The title poem, New Bird, is below. Take good care of yourselves and each other, Friends!
Just when I am ready to slip under
surrender to the slings and arrows,
knowing I’ve seen enough
certain that I can’t face another midnight,
some small speck of a spark
and burns my skin
and lets me know that I am still here.
A cosmic match that begs me
to doubt the despair,
to wonder about my faith,
the hope that there might be more to glimpse
in all the tomorrows I fear.
Oh God, please let there be more.
After almost four decades of familiar wings,
I might just come to the gate of Frances’ garden,
her century old roses wrapping me
in blushing pinks and reds,
their cool petals and sunrise scents
calling me back home
to this place that I’m meeting for the very first time,
like an old friend.
As the noon sun glows in greeting,
I just might see a new bird
perched on the worn, warm, red brick wall,
its feathers unfamiliar,
its song strange and silky,
its colors not known to my heart,
its glassy eye fixed on mine,
an invitation to stay.
I may just know what it was I was kept for.
Oh God, I hope it happens.
I might be meant to cross an ocean
for just this moment:
to see, to sense, to know
that there are still slices of world I’ve yet to
look upon, to love.
I’ve begun collecting scraps of what is, scratchy and wilted,
from which to build a nest of what could be, wild and strong.
Someday, perhaps, this unexpected raft might agree to
bear me over the white foam sea
and I will stand rooted like an oak
barefoot in the green grasses,
beneath a warm sky,
forty thousand new birds to meet.