I'm the perpetual fledgling
People have the misfortune of being born without wings,
feathers, anything aerodynamic.
But as lonely as it can be,
It's lovely to be raised by birds.
They are responsible parents.
I wake up each morning at their urging
in time for an early breakfast.
Birds are not greedy. Not even magpies.
They pick through their nests and find new things for me to wear
bits of tin and shell and glass and cellophane, clips and keys and old lost lockets, charms, dried flowers
sheet music, washers, pins, lace and gold hair strung together to make queen's necklaces.
They preen twice as often and twice as carefully so as to supply the best feathers for my fashions.
They steal for me
Sing me to sleep
And tuck me into a downy nest.
I belong.
