by Leigh-Anne Burley

A thud against my washed window
as the stunned sparrow falls backward 
knocked out on my patio cement floor.

Is it dead? 
Will it rally?
Will it fly again?

Cocooned in eternal stillness, we wait.

Please, Lord, touch this sparrow.
No more brokenness.
No more death.

One triumphant flip onto its feet
As my friend crouches and
looks out at her home of sky and trees,  
feels the gentle breeze fluff its feathers.

The bird and I sit between two realities and cry.
Perhaps our tears will stretch to heaven and 
fall back as mana.

Then it happens, a systems check. 
The sparrow turns its head left, then right,  
rebounds with little hops,
and commits to flight.

I lift my broken spirit
and know I am not alone
God’s heart aches with the suffering. 
His tears water my widow’s wasteland.
One day, I will learn to fly differently.

---

Leigh-Anne Burley was born in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and resides in Virginia with her husband. She has three children and six grandchildren. Leigh-Anne has a BA in English and an MA in Pastoral Counseling. She is published in nonfiction, fiction, and poetry. Leigh-Anne enjoys walking and hiking in nature, reading, writing and movies.