The chirping reminds me

what it meant

to casually open a door

and step without caution

onto splinting grounds

in the comfort of uncertainty

following the trail lead by

sparrow’s squawks.

They stay calling, the birds,

it is true as you’ve heard

if you remain in a room too long

with your head under a pillow

soaking in tear-stained cheeks,

the heart becomes a dark place.

Such that the chirps irritate

the boiling confusion

and windows get shut

the sound is trouble

songs of the birds are like

the cut of bad news

yet they keep chanting my name.

I once believed to be whispers

revealed a calling task

of mighty and defiant ability

which served a purpose

that positioned my face to above

and in the blues from the atmosphere

in the wisps of shredded clouds

perched on the rays of sunlight

was the Mother bird.

She howled as if to the moon

she roared to finalize the hunt

and she chirped to pull me to focus.

Are you listening

do you hear it

will you keep your ears open

when the birds are chanting your name?