My girl, Sara has a gift....an amazing gift: of words and insite and heart.
She surprised me with this poem last week. It touched my soul deeply and my heart immensly. She gets me....that's hard to do.
"Mothers who love your children, do not set them too soon in the study of history; let them dream while they are young. Do not close the soul to the first breath of poetry. Nothing affrights me so much as the reasonable, practical child who believes in nothing that he cannot touch." -Edward Laboulaye
Thank you mother, for bestowing in me the talent and the heart of a poet. I owe it all to you. Please remember, there is no cage that can contain you, you hold the key to any lock that stands in your way: imagination.
For the woman who sacrificed all for me... my heart is forever kindled with yours.
NO CAGE TOO VAST
Sara Giancarla Juliani
midnight eyes kindled with two
twinkling stars
like the lullaby she used to sing me to sleep
when i was but a mere yolk in her viscera
tranquil dove is she
pale plumage of austere allurement
she cannot fathom her demise
her liberty seized,
by golden-crowned kinglet of domesticity.
now she, with wings of winter wren folded
and pinned to
suburban house with cracked green trim
two brown-speckled eggs so lovingly hatched
and the incessant call of her mate,
to the mercies of this cruel blizzard
pelting her with a hail of woes
she's withstood many an avalanche before
but none so bad as this.
the winter wren wonders
if it will ever fly again.
she is stout and tough with
melodious songs enough,
but i would also declare her a scarlet tanager,
the red bird of the sun
bold and unafraid,
wings ever-desirous
to lift toes off dirty paved streets,
the sky disappearing from view,
ever moving forward into sunbeams
she cannot decide which to be.
one day the hook will push up and outward,
the bar will drop,
and gentle breezes carry the wire door
farther beyond yourself,
until the universe has its way,
its natural order
the cage begins to falter,
as gingerly one foot steps towards freedom,
her bright pinions shudder hesitantly
will i be a winter wren forever?
Sunday afternoons creating art is one on my favorite things...
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