Do the birds know
I am not myself
moving gently towards them
seeds in one pocket
water in the other
barefoot in the cool, damp grass
tticking to call the cardinals
tticking to say I have not forgotten you
I have been here all along
just moving more slowly
finding my way to solid ground
done with the flitterings of grief
and old limitations —
so what of loss?
these leaves had to fall
it is the natural order
churning and churning
everything changing
the leaves, the river,
and time tticking too
Poem ©2025, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you’ll love my new book SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS, on sale now!
randomactsofwriting.net 