This poem was written at a time when I was, despite a lack of experience, quite successful at work. I was proud of myself, but also nervous. I didn’t want it to go to my head. This poem employs the haiku method of connecting two unrelated or disjointed ideas—though perhaps it’s unfair of me to assume this little songbird thought it could fly straight through our windows out of hubris. Likely it was simply unfortunate instinct. Still—the poem.
Songbird
Today, I discovered a songbird headfirst in the snow. The usually neat feathers all a mess and claws, on impossibly thin stalks for their strength, grasping snow and air. It must have clubbed itself against the window at such a time when no one was really listening. I am beginning to believe the mythology of my own excellence and this is a very dangerous thing.