Letting Go
I open my hand and the hundred small birds of my heart flutter out, wings rumpled from the tight fist I’ve carried them in.
They fall to the ground before flying up, knowing something of soil and grief.
I can’t shake this feeling now. Nights up, hearing the house move, the small birds flit restlessly about the room, dreaming.
With dawn the birds fly up to the rafters where I cannot reach them.