Fall and Fly

by Agneta Falk Hirschman

A small hand on a windowsill
looking out on the future
the curved sorrow
an imprint I hold

a whimsical thought grows
to an ocean of bewilderment
a tender longing for fingers
to Interlace, helping each other
find the light

someone, something has dug
its teeth into my heart
I can’t reach it with my hand
nor with my voice, it beats
urgently inside, is as afraid as I am

history is on repeat
spewing bombs across the globe
it’s a sore dance to follow
a dance out of step

give me a tear I cannot cry
hand me a tool I can use
to undo the hunger
fill the ocean with fish

a guy on Green Street
I always have a buck for
tells me to go to hell
and no return
what else to do, but smile

a smile that doesn’t last
passed the thought of
this homeless city full

of cardboard beds
still, the dreams go on
someone plays the violin
on a corner, eats another’s
leftover lunch, chalk poems
on the sidewalk and shout
loudly into the night

Labor Day afternoon, a Falcon
settles in a neighbor’s tree
sits their majestically, very still, looking on
Is that you? I think, before it takes off

I want to bring back so many who’ve died
continue the conversations, get answers
to all the questions unasked, to be quiet
to be quiet together, to touch

elsewhere someone gets into a boat
crammed to the brim with people
fleeing for their lives, crossing
dark waters in search of a home

arriving at closed borders
barbed wire, overcrowded camps
it’s hard to climb over walls
built of fear of other
it’s hard to become a mere statistic
like a wind in vain chasing the weather

that small hand on the windowsill, my son
all our children, filling our shoes
following the footsteps, we’d made
our choice, their future

I fall
I fall
I fall
The leg is broken

begin to fly