His name was Teaberry, and he turned colors when he cried.
I'd found him at a luxury mall
parking lot.
Teaberry claimed he'd found his guardian angel when I appeared to him.
Never found the guts to say I wasn't an angel
Or that I wasn't his.
I wasn't… no, I wasn't.
His name was Teaberry, and I fell for him hard and fast.
Like a swift wind dropping me to my feet.
I don't have feet.
But if I did, he would have swept me off mine.
His name was Teaberry, and I wanted to be his. Even though I wasn't.
I never thought I'd like a vessel that wasn't mine.
I still needed one of my own.
His name was Teaberry, and I was fading.
My hold wasn't strong enough to his world.
But I loved him.
Wasn't that enough?
Why couldn't it be enough- his name was Teaberry, and I needed to bond to him.
Fast.
Otherwise
I couldn't last.
Why couldn't love be enough?
The colorant of dawn, the cardinal sees,
intoning its hues with, “pretty...pretty...pretty.”
As I covet red feathers, in the teaberry tree,
the sunlit chickadee harmonizes, “hey sweetie.”
The woodpecker like a heckler is pining for laughs -
pounding, drumming the marionette for gaffs.
A tufted titmouse tweets, “peter...peter...peter.”
The goldfinch dines on dandelion seeds, lilting sweeter.
Outfitted with winsome wildlife, comfortable and commodious,
my small bit of forest resonates with songbirds, melodious.
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