Can a black-capped chickadee
be tentative in his call,
hanging back, half in,
afraid of not mattering?
Does his sweet, springtime song
get stuck in the muscular pouch
of his throat for fear of
not being heard?
No.
Mask pulled up to his beak,
he delivers a crisp one-two punch
that always lands,
taking me out of my head
and into the branches
every time.
This stealthy guru,
joyful in his robes of fluff,
teaches me to sing
until my music finds
ears that hear it—
including my own—
opening to catch
a sovereign song,
life humming through me
as me.
Sri Chickadee tells me
to take the hand
from over my mouth,
put it on my heart
and honor fully
the strange, singular duet
that gathers in my throat.
He says, Shout it, sing it, share it.
Make the offering
that is yours to make.
When it’s clear and true,
free of fear or agenda,
it can’t help but be
the song of everything.
Photo by Bryan Hanson