The Paths Home

So how old was I then and how long had I known the house was here . . .
I took the bird inside when dark arrived, and its little wings fluttered
but didn’t fly. I said to hell with superstition, my mama had something
better, ju-ju, gris-gris, I didn’t know what it was but she made things
come true. When it got light I’d go home, it would be a good day to walk
hungry enough to set a fair pace and come in her door in time to set
the table and serve her gumbo I knew how to do and did I do it well!
I happened to find some wire and made a cage from sticks I gathered
and now the bird had a way to travel with me, and dios mio, was I happy!
I woke and immediately told the house I would come back soon, so stay.
No sounds from the creatures . . . I went to the water to wash out my eyes
and left the grass alone, picked up the little cage with the little bird inside
and little by little, it seemed to me, I wound my way along winding paths
to get home by the time I knew I would to do what mama usually did . . .

(2 March 2011)

copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander