Hatchlings
I held their world in the palm of my hand
as well as pieces of what was left of the nest.
I was in awe of necks so delicate and slight,
tufted heads balancing, bobbing, and heavy.
With my finger, I touched them; featherless, pink,
mouths opened - did they think I their mother?
I had no sustenance to give.
In fact, I was the giant that tumbled their world,
doomed them never to soar open skies
or sing sunrise melodies.
They had perhaps one night
beneath starlit sky, one brief morning
of sun and fresh breeze...
But they would never know more. I was thankful
they had each other to cuddle as life ebbed.
Wondered if we are fooling ourselves,
comforted with philosophy and physics,
with our observations, theories, and Nobel Prizes.
Could it be we are as sightless as hatchlings,
perhaps not even as fortunate as the ones
I held in my hands?
For we forget to gaze upon the constellations,
forget to relish sun and clouds, moon and stars,
in fact, close the curtains at noon and night ...
and we often die alone.
Margaret Bednar, March 30, 2019
This is written for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Physics with Bjorn - Cosmology & Expanding Horizons"
