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Grounded Bird

She had a wounded, tender spot

That she protected and hid more than not.

Outside she was brave and strong and wise

While inside her vulnerable cries

Wrung from her so hard at times she felt

The world must see through her image svelte.

History made her a grounded bird

And if she could fly she never had heard

That it was ok and it was now safe to try

Ignoring the hurt that protected why;

Her reason to skip most of life and exist

As minimally as she could get away with.

So for far too long she flew not

And lost her lust for life and so got

Rusty and secluded and old premature

Without a friend or lover to conjure

The first warm feeling she might have had

If only a letting go she had given sad.

Kathy Adams