My daughter wants to feed the birds at the zoo
Or, at least, she thinks she does
Until we are in the little aviary
With the budgies flying all around
Then, her feelings are mixed
She holds out the popsicle stick covered in seeds,
wanting them to land but,
cringing away from them at the same time;
eyes closed tight;
flinching when their diminutive wings
beat by her head;
crying, sometimes -
she is diminutive, too,
and still testing her wings in the winds of this world
Never have I identified with her more
Hands outstretched but shying away
At once reaching for life and
unsure what to do if it arrives as,
theoretically,
desired.
Tempting joy while overwhelmed
By the cumulative noise -
so quiet if left alone -
of a thousand beating wings
