To Rescue A Robin

I write these things as if I were her. I write as if I were that confused child, that child who would hardly recognize "adult" me. I write to express what never was expressed as a child. As a woman, yes I'm doing okay. But sometimes I find that I need to say what I never got to say.

Here is a piece that I've written that sheds light on a past-related piece of me. I believe that God didn't intend this for me, but He allowed it to happen. This is a result of an unfortunate childhood. And God will ultimately use it for good. 

To Rescue A Robin

Fire. That’s what his chest reminds me of.
Capable of hate. Capable of love?

Reddish and orange and seemingly warm.
What power is enclosed in his red little form.

The area around his heart part is inviting.
And his songs of affirmation are more than exciting.

Welcoming and alluring, his chest begs me to lie next to him.
Be close to his heart and all the love that's within.

But ice has just as much power to scald.
I feel that burn when a call isn't called.

Wait, I feel no heat all nestled up next to him.
I feel no heat, not even at the sight of him.

So I long to extract every vice from within.
Use my warmth to insulate and to warm him.

But when I come near, he flies away.
He flies away and never stays.

Yet he brings much hope.
When I am in pain, he helps me to cope.

He understands when it’s time to sing.
He delivers a glorious song every spring.

I don’t fear his lovely singing.
The calls, the tunes, and all the ringing.

Perhaps a new time has finally come!
But oh how I fear the song left unsung.

Each one higher in pitch, three short calls he willingly makes.
The world and the forest he violently wakes.

Sometimes he neglects the pauses; he sings endless, glorious waves.
Our sounds echo; our chests are empty caves.

If I close my eyes and let his sounds take me,
I succumb to the dream where heaven awaits me.

His sounds have wired me to perceive light before me,
even if shadows are all I can see.

This morning. Out the window. I hear his voice.
So I jump out of bed as if I have no other choice.

I dress quickly. Close my book.
Not pausing to consider how unsightly I must look.

I step outside. Allow myself to breathe.
That’s when I see him, perched among the leaves.

Parked on a branch continuing to call to me.
He knew his sounds would somehow summon me.

Parked on a branch continuing to call to me.
A woman he continuously calls me to be.

Sometimes he hops, rather than flies,
but when he flies, I can see freedom in his eyes.

He sees me, all of me.
A woman he calls and begs me to be.

He takes from me; he always receives.
And there's no need to question just how much he believes.

That I am the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.
That I am his princess, all snuggled up and curled.

Next to him. I dance.
He takes off. I watch.

He is the cause. And I am an effect. He sings. I sing. He swoons,
sending my heart over the moon.

No! He spirals and heads straight for the glass.
He spirals and twirls and lands in the grass.

No. There's no way I can stop it.
I’ve only enough awareness to stand by and watch it.

The thud is piercing and painful in my ears.
All limp and numb, the embodiment of my fears.

I look down to the ground and see that brown belly facing up.
I fold my hands and quickly make a cup.

What on earth has he done?
And where is the light? Where is the sun?

I squat down, not stopping to consider the cracks in my knees.
I jump up when I see motion; I see that he still breathes.

I reach for him. I reach out to him, to hear him, to help him.
Why is the light becoming so dim?

His beak pierces my hand. A drop of blood falls to the ground.
Now I know I'm too close. Now he makes not a sound.

So I reach. I swoop.
I nurture. I regroup.

I keep quiet of the things that I've seen.
I never frown, never slouch. On him I always lean.

For all that I fear is the song left unsung.
I no longer fear all the harm that’s been done.

I stroke him, coax him.
I sing when he doesn’t seem to listen.

I smile. I invite him.
I do all that I can to help him to sing again.

And when he does, he flies away.
And I can rest easy for one more day.

When I look up to the sky, I see him. I see sin.
He’s perched on the highest branch as if I never saved him.

There’s so much that I’ve gained, but it’s everything that I’ve lost.
I wonder if I would've kept quiet if I truly knew the cost?

I've tried to rescue a robin. I've tried to save a father.
If I knew he'd never love me, would I have even bothered?

But that was then. This is now.
I know I must release him. Some days I'm just not sure how.

But it looks like I don't have to, for he has flown away.
Has nothing to sing; he has nothing to say.

He's gone. He's left. He's never coming back.
And I'm left here with these memories to forever unpack.

© Kara Rodriguez

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