Elegy to a Mother

a little bird
showed me one day
how I must live
and die;

as she left her chick
out beneath the intimate skies,
where the winds
bit sharply into their flesh -
age irrelevant;
and the earth -
I don't know why
she turned away
suddenly
with an icy stare,
as if she knew,
but couldn't help

that little bird,
as she flew away
alone,
finding her way
across tempestuous seas,
for a little piece of something,
that would put out the fire
in raging bellies,
flapping her tired wings -
urgent, yet not impatient,
cutting through the white,
without looking back once
at her newborn,
who stood there shivering
with hopeful eyes,
not knowing if she
would ever come back;

and as they said
their silent goodbyes,
with not so much
of a peck or a squawk,
they began to write
their own stories,
of what it takes to live
and to die well,
here.