The tick tock of my heart
and yours as we lift above the trees
and I fall away from you,
gently, quietly, like autumn leaves
saying goodbye to their mother.
The sound that silence makes
an hour before day has swallowed
its first sip of coffee,
high above the colourful and quiet
dragon tails of rush hour commuters.
The whomp! of burners catching,
replenishing the starving canopy,
reminders we’re not independent birds
like hawks and eagles, loons and falcons.
We’re budgies in a painted cage.
The cry of the young boy
still wearing his pyjamas
to walk his golden lab around the yard.
“Mommy,” he shouts. “Mommy!
They’re landing on our roof.”
The scrape of basket bottom on the grass.
The “Thank you, Lord” from Mrs. Green.
The pop of champagne corks.
The bustle of the ground crew.
The realization (sigh) that my wings are clipped.
Copyright 1995 Ev McTaggart
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