Nest
the dead bird comes home
to its mother to say,
“I did try.”
hollow things can
only try, it says.
and were it not for the emptiness
they are born with,
that persisting fate of a one-day jump,
they might never have
seen an edge to fly from.
were they born full,
‘jump’ would only have been
a story.
it is odd:
only the thing born empty
is given the biological makeup
to climb without clinging
to some limb. it holds
onto its own. it has wings
which work
or do not work
and that is the end of it.
what gift of echoed bones
gives flight and no fear of helpless
spiral, but curses the body
with the knowledge that those things
they lack
may let them jump
with no care.
should we fall,
whose bones are not worth
the weight they sacrificed
but bore
and bore
and bore.
it was not the wings,
it says. I did try.
By Emma Bleker
Biography:
Emma Bleker is a 22 year old writer based out of Virginia. She has previously been published or is forthcoming in Philosophical Idiot, Persephone’s Daughters, Cahoodaloodaling, Yellow Chair Review, Thought Catalog, Rising Phoenix Review, and Skylark Review, among others. She probably wants to be your friend.