I Wait For Death Like A Soldier's Wife

Love is like holding a baby bird in your hand

Hold it too tight, and it will die

Hold it too loose, and it will slip through your fingers and also die

Hands close together with open palms and care is ideal

Yet my hands can’t stop shaking

I’m terrified to hurt the baby bird

So small and defenseless

Delicate and young and perfect

But I’ve killed every baby bird given to me

Shaken baby bird syndrome

Drowned in my tears

Unable to perfectly cater to the poor bird

Coffins gather in my psyche of birds who never grew up to fly

Now I’m scared of birds

They haunt my dreams

Their ghosts follow me around and attack me like the birds of Bodega Bay attacked the residents

Love is like holding a baby bird in your hands

And I’ve given up on taking care of baby birds