THE WRITTEN WORD
The sky’s alive with you. Millions
of warblers, finches, kinglets fly
into clouds that cover the moon
and cross the strand of Milky Way.
Scientists count you, record your migration
and calls far above my bed and pillows.
You cross oceans and continents. I slide
into April dreams, your symphony a serenade.
Oh, that I could wing with you, trills in my throat,
could navigate by the stars, but you have far to fly
before you rest and I before I wake. You
are feathers, air in your bones, and I am clay.
Ione (Tootsie) O'Hara
Tootsie O’Hara has lived in Davidson for sixteen years. Since retiring from teaching English as a Second Language, she has tutored privately and has facilitated poetry workshops. Her chapbook, A Passing Certainty, was published by Pudding House Press.