Part I: The Flapping of Wings in an Unwelcome Space
By Kasey Stecher
It is ok. It is what I was put here to do. It is my baby bird flapping his wings frantically so someone will listen. It is the adults in the room hearing the flapping And thinking of fight and rebellion, Instead of struggle or a cry for help from what he does not yet understand- about his own brain. This is NOT ok. But this is what I was put here to do. This is why he is mine. So I can swoop in- strong and with warning. So I can keep my beautiful baby bird from being thrown from this nest By an imposter.
He WILL learn to fly- brave and strong And entirely on his own. His call may not always harmonize but will, anyways, lead him to success and clear skies. Despite the
Chaotic rooms, year after year, built on a bed of False branches, And thin yarn. All masking as strong fibers of learning.
My boy is a bird made of birds With a heart so big that I will stand up inside of him
And create a windstorm That will not be ignored.
HVWP COMMONPLACE 28
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