This bird woman uncaged,
florally abundant, smiling,
clear-eyed and colorful,

a woman who has seen and loved
and lived well, holding it in every
cell, every fold, every wink.

Let me grow into this old woman
amid blooming things like
flowers and wingéd things

like birds and insects,
all manner of creatures
who show me how to fly,

how to relish every minute
of these too-short lives—
really just an eyeblink—

and, when it’s time,
how to wing off on a breath,
truly uncaged from

the house of this body
I think of
as me.