Photo by Lisa B

Small Things

Lisa Idárraga
Nov 4 · 2 min read

The grey and brown feathered flock twisted their heads

And stood staring in the park today.

Motionless, they gazed at me.

Self-conscious suddenly,

For I dressed all in black.

They must have thought that perhaps

I had come to shoot more than their photo.

Little do they know I’ll go out of my way

To avoid them in the spring

When nesting habits make them chase and hiss.

And while it may seem silly,

I do have a history

With birds attacking and pecking at me.

As a child, I feared to cross the path

Of the crows on the sidewalk.

Go ahead! They’re just birds! my mother said.

As if size were the determining factor.

Put a number on your fear

A weight and measure.

I must have known it then

As surely as I do now.

Often the things that one fears most

Are not easily defined

And in fact,

Have no shape or weight at all.

But they can still keep you awake at night

With their invisible weight on your chest.

In your mind swirling

Like leaves on the wind.

And it can seem like

One endless fall

Full of black crows

And staring geese.

And a voice,

Your own voice now

Urging you,

Go on! They’re just birds!

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