BIRD WOMAN (by Ruth Marshall)

When will you fly?

I sit beside you,
and touch your little-claw hand.
You turn,
your eyes still beautiful,
and gaze at something I cannot see.
Stick legs lead you
on a hollow-boned stumble
down the ward.
Your bird-heart races.
You watch the sky
and clash against the glass.
Come, let me hold you.
Rest in my cupped hands
till your tiny heart is still.
your body has adapted to the air.
When will you fly?