The Man at the Door and the Bird at the Window

Poem and Collage

Do you ever write something and though you are not sure what it means you are sure that it is right? Here is such a poem. I know there are poets always trying to write from the bright side, to offer solace, who insist that there is healing in nature if only you can find your way to a garden or a park or a forest. Lately, all those places seem far and inaccessible to me. But I still have my words.

A Different Kind of Blessing
By Laura L. Hansen

I don't need you to tell me how to pray. 
I can pray without holding your hand. 
My prayers don't need to be printed 
on a page. Please don't knock 
on my door with your prayers. 

A bird slammed into the picture window
yesterday afternoon. His body may lie
there in the bush still. He said no prayers
before he raced headlong into the reflection 
of the sun. He fell as far and as fast as Icarus. 
It is not only humans who are fooled. 

So, if you want to pray for me, go ahead.
As for me, I will be digging a tiny grave
and all the birdsong in the world won't
raise us up. But words will be said. 
I will kneel with cupped hands and say,
"You tried. It was the sun that failed". 

Vintage Library Card Mini Collage by Laura Hansen

Long soaking rain in Minnesota today. Quiet all around the neighborhood. A good day to contemplate just being alone in the silent house. Still savoring the memory of my weekend reading; Annie Dunne by Sebastian Barry.

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