Tiny birds
...a poem about wanting to see life through my sister's eyes from time to time.
Tiny birds used to line up at the foot of the bunkbeds we shared. Just for you—I could never see them. Mum would tell me to go back to bed, a cold flannel pressed to your head. But I wanted to see the birds. You could see the wind too. We all told you it was just the rain or the trees that it blew, but you could see the wind and now I want to see it too. But you don’t see birds anymore, nor wind. Two kids, one job and not enough to go around But still, you fill their bedrooms with 100 balloons on their birthdays, and I want to see that; I want to see them wake up to that.
The Tideline
My sister used to get really high temperatures and hallucinate when we were kids. Remembering that got me thinking about seeing the world through her eyes, and the ways in which she makes it magical for her own kids.
I am a poet, author and journalist looking for defiant hope in the intersections between nature and culture. If you enjoyed this poem, subscribe for more…
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