Awakening
Cardinals
There are birds that stay longer than the fading leaves of summer,
Missing that collective flight to a happier climate –
Perhaps in hope that they alone
Will find the benefits of what is left behind –
Only to face the harsh emptiness of a New England winter.
They constantly search for food,
Scratching their beaks across
The bleak, unyielding landscape
And skate on feet used to warm, lush grass
Across the icy top layer of wet snow.
And returning home, they can only expect
Is a nest made of dry broken sticks
In a tree, once green and alive
Now deadened by winter. And still,
They bring the landscape alive,
Brightening the lethargic winter light with
Flames of color from themselves - their own
Striking red lighting up the snow around them.
Who am I?
In my warm home, alive with heat
Bursting with it,
From crackling sticks in a fire,
With my thick clothing, and soft neat bed, and
With my steaming plates of food.
Who am I to wear a constant frown,
Who am I to question hope,
When I have no needs, and barely wants, unmet?
Shouldn’t I be the one to liven the landscape from within?
Who am I to dare unhappiness?
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