little bird ~ 1987/age 17

      the light flashed green,
      something in my heart, in the stoplight
      told me to walk.
      You watched me
      standing in the doorway,
      you chased me down the hall,
      down the elevator
      but stopped in the doorway, standing.

      Barefoot, long-haired bird
      I tried to fly.
      I chasedthe approving stoplight;
      dreams of freedom,
      unchained heart.
      The drops from the sky fell
      tears from my eyes,
      flashing yellow to red
      -- don't walk it said --
      don't fly in stormy skies.

      I clenched you tightly,
      two little birds with broken wings
      wrists tied; we cannot fly.

      Later, we'd carry on, putting the storm away,
      though my mind still raced with airborne visions.
      You clenched me like a child, you
      chew my flesh,
      I wail, I cry, take me higher
      yes, take me to the sky, still, we cannot fly.

      You looked so beautiful under the storm.
      Your hair in your eyes, glowing
      under the fiery stoplight
      said, don't walk,
      never fly, little bird,
      with broken wings, with your heart tied
      you can never fly.

© 1987/2001