Some Kind of Bird


I am alone in the new light of morning.
Our children are still asleep in our room;
you are still asleep in our daughter’s room.
I sneak away and reach my arms high as if to embrace the sun.

I pull open the front window curtain,
fill up my water cup
and watch the cardinals dive from the sky,
land on our front porch where 
we scattered seed for them yesterday, 
hoping to see them up close.
And here they are, my visitors 
dressed in the color of fire,
dancing just for me as I admire them 
from my side of the glass.

Soon my oldest will wake, fly into the room and scare them away.
Soon she will demand all of my attention, ask me to feed her and tell her she is brilliant and beautiful,
like some kind of bird.

And I will, always,
because she is