A Poem by Holly Day
I’m not going to say his name, but he was in pain
I could tell he was in pain even though I couldn’t see his eyes
through his sunglasses, didn’t register the limp until he moved.
There was a wave of anger and pain every time he sighed
most of the time I thought it was directed at me.
There are birds inside all of us struggling to break free
in poetry, or song, or through bright swaths of paint
some of us have stronger birds inside of us
than those of other people, and while that sounds
magical and wonderful, it’s not. It’s better to be filled with sparrows
that will never find the strength to rip free
than to be filled with creatures vital enough to be felt
all of the time, powerful enough
to break through one’s skin and fly free at any given moment
leaving nothing but the hollowed-out shell of a shattered human being
in their wake.