On Herons

Last summer above Diamond Lake
a heron flew
like hope
and a feather escaped its' wake.
I watched it float then fall,
grabbed it down the beach
for good luck.
the one with the feather
now shoved into cupboards
you don't have
(amongst a calculator and a camera)
doesn't need it so much.
And if you had an address
I'd send it to you
because you believe in their magic, too.
You had one made
out of wrought iron
for me one Christmas.
That steel heron still hangs,
loyal to our front door,
a favorite among gifts
from a favorite person.
If we lost you
my heart would splinter.
I love you
and I let you go.
No expectations.
Just beliefs
in things that fly awkwardly
both imperfect
and magestic.
Take your cue
from our feathered friend
and try flight.
Be the heron
that gives hope
to everyone watching.
For my brother Ry


Anonymous said…
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This would be a couple of tears shed while reading this beautiful poem. mrl
Anonymous said…
Lovely and sad, Tia. Thanks for sharing.

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