She sits

in the third seat back

on the bus everyday,

the one next to the window,

creating fog on the freezing

glass with her steady,

monotonous

breathing.

She scuffs

her Mary Janes

on uneven

slabs of concrete in the sidewalk

as she fiddles

with the strings of her sweatshirt,

pulling her red hood

A little closer.

She stops at the end

of a quiet cul­-de-sac,

feet spread shoulder width,

gazing at her house,

an open, smiling mouth

and a desire burning in her chest

to trade her uniform,

the pressed shirt,

plaid skirt,

black tie

for scarlet feathers

because

Just across the dead,

gray yard,

past the blighted

flower boxes,

and along the overgrown

rose trellis,

florid fowl flock

to exchange philosophy

as the College of the Cardinals

convenes

As Ornithological intellectuals flit

through the Halls of Ivy

that overtake the face of the house,

she stands ready to give

her life

to study with those scholars,

to join the Radiance of Redbird

Registrants

We Cardinals fly as we please,

they seem to sing, fluttering rosy feathers

as they hop from vine to dead vine.

Nothing commands our movements

or demands we be still.

We fly where the wind takes us.

"Can I fly with you?" she whispers,

pleading enviously to be part

of their weightless freedom.

Not so, the Cardinals whistle,

preparing for flight,

for cardinals do not shy away

from winter storms or frozen skies.

We soar through the bitterness

and the bleak, chilling air

with our feathers sleek and bright.

How her wishful heart pulls

as they take

their studies with them into the clouds

where, though she runs

Beneath them, she is unable to follow,

wanting to spread wings

she does not have.

****

This was a piece I wrote for my Creative Writing class around January.  It is one of a collection of three poems relating to birds.  Stay tuned for  Pandemonium, Part two: A Mustering of Storks