You, like a bird learning to fly
your legs like torn straws, not strong enough to hold the round belly and large eyes.
I am reminded of how I would sit for hours
stroking the wet, scarce, grey backs of all those baby birds I tried to save.
Holding them wrapped in rags and feeding them from a crusty eyedropper.
The tears prepare to spill, so I close my eyes
and watch a blue veined lid until they go away.