Diminished

I find a dying feathered friend
lying in a dirty puddle of melted snow.
Come into my home, little one.

I gently wash her while
she scratches up my hands as I hold her.

Chirping and screaming,
I want to calm her frightful energy.

Once she is still,

I nourish her.

I love yous, nutrition,
bottomless needs,
overextending these hands,
hyperextending my wrist.

It hurts, and I brace myself.

With the wrapped-around support applied by me truly,
I may not be able to exercise properly,
cook properly,
type,
care for
myself.

But I’m helping.

Within my home, the bird flies above me and sings now.
My work has paid off.
She is beautiful, I am spent.

I hope we can step outside into the healing sunlight
together

but she flies out the open door first chance,
behind my house, into the sky,
never looking back to question

how it is she began to soar again.