Wooden Bird

Written by Cynthia Connell Davis

Usually when you look at this bird 
you will see a wooden bird.
Sometimes you will look at it and see 
your soul taking the shape of wings.

Usually when you open the secret chamber
it will be empty.
One day you may open it and
hear a voice call you by a strange name.
And this will not be a lesson but a reminder
of the name your beloved calls you by. 
From then on, when you open it, it will look empty
but you will remember that this chamber is where
your beloved keeps your secret name.

Then one day you will forget
the voice (that calls you back to who you are) . . . 
forget because you're angry with yourself for failing.
You will seize your bird and fling it away, crying,
"Worthless! Meaningless! Stupid!"
And then you will learn something,
for failure holds our most valuable lessons. . . 

You will retrieve your bird,
glue back its wings,
coo to it that you're sorry
(for truly objects mean us no harm),
and put it back on the table.

A few days later, when you look inside,
you will see a new emptiness . . .

(Written to accompany the gift to a friend of a wooden bird with a hidden chamber)