Bird {a poem}

Every now and then the bird comes back
who beats against the inside of my chest.
I feel the flapping -- frantic, thrashing --
and remember the long-ago instructions.
Arms straight out in a horizontal plane,
I open my mouth as wide as possible.
I open my mouth, breathe in deeply,
then exhale forcefully, leaving not a drop
of air inside, forcing the bird to fly out
on a current of recycled oxygen.
Its wings begin to unfurl just in time,
barely making it to the outside world
before their full span emerges, overtaking
the space around my body, and I run
to open the window and pull up the screen
so my bird can be free to take over
the whole sky if she needs to, the dark
night where her body can blend, eclipsing
stars so briefly as she passes by that you,
looking up, register only the flicker of light.

{2017)