When my mother would ask me what I wanted to be when I was grown, every time, hope swelling,
I would gaze up and tell her, “I want to be a bird.”
I remember sitting in the back garden apple tree, imagination bursting, wondering,
“Maybe if I wait here, my wings will grow, and I’ll be like them too.”
I think that maybe I marveled at the way they took flight into freedom,
and how their youthful spirit never seemed to fade.
I think perhaps I loved the way they continued to sing their song in all the seasons,
and how they made me a little homesick for places I’d never been.
When my mother would ask me what I wanted to be when I was grown, every time,
I think what I really meant to tell her was that I wanted to grow up to be
as free as them, as bold as them, as weightless as them, as carefree in the care of another as them,
and for there to be no confinements to where I could reach and no borders to where I could bound.
I think I still want to be a little like them.
I hope that we can still be a little like them.
And I hope that we can still grow up believing,
That we can be anything at all.
You are free to believe again.