How I learned to fly

The first time you held me you said I felt fragile

like a bird

like a tiny creature you could crush if you held too tight.

You held too tight.

But you forgot that birds have wings and the sky is vast and

when I flew away

you said I was foolish and that I would fall and hurt myself

but I flew higher

and you said I was selfish and I would come back because

you were my nest

and anyway, I couldn’t survive in the wild without you.

I didn’t come back.

The wild held me lightly and caressed my feathers with its breath

and I found the sky

to be a much safer nest than the cage of your embrace.