First Flight

I hold the words gently in my mind,

round, expectant, warm

like one small bird in my hand,

eager and alive, awaiting its first flight.

I lay them on the page and discover

they are only flat, lifeless shadows

looking up, mocking me.

In desperation I take paste and scissors to them,

reconstruct them one by one,

I jumble them together and watch them land

until they would do my bidding.

I have only the success I would have had

if I pasted that small warm bird together

from bone and feather, then willed it to fly.

©2007 Donna Jo Wallace.