i am a bird

As part of my Certificate in Spirituality and Healthcare from the University of Florida, I took a course that examined spirituality and the arts in nursing. Most of the students were studying nursing or pre-med, and our professor’s background matched. My professor, Mary, believed in using art, whatever the form, as a healing practice. She was a gifted painter and an unapologetic free spirit. I admit that some of the class activities seemed elementary. To this day, I’m not sure how tracing my body with a sharpie and coloring in my energy with magic markers taught me anything about spirituality or healthcare, but we had fun. And she fostered creativity and openness, something that most pre-nursing/pre-med students aren’t exposed to. Even as a journalism major, creativity was not encouraged unless strategically harnessed for a story. Creativity for creativity’s sake isn’t always encouraged in the classroom. Sometimes, though, these imagination activisties led to more effective writing on my end. I felt more capable in my abilities, beacause the stakes weren’t so high. It’s like in baseball, when a relief pitcher warms up in the bullpen.

Towards the end of one particular class, Mary gave us the prompt “I am.” That’s it. We could draw, dance, sing, write, or probably just it there and text as long as we could explain it’s relation to our interpretation of, “I am.” Obviously, I started to write. Out came a nice little peom of sorts. I never thought I would use it, and if I’m being honest, I cringe at most of my attempts at poetry. I don’t know, I kind of liked this one. Maybe you will too.

…

I am a bird.

There is no graceful reasoning behind this, but the frantic manner in which a bird flies into the walls of its cage, unwilling to see the door, feels familiar. Twitchy and loud- I am a bird. But I don’t always want to be. No - sometimes I want to be a flower. Maybe a Gardenia, like the ones that bloomed outside of my childhood home on Antille Drive. Maybe a sunflower because yellow feels like joy. I can sometimes feel like a sunset on a fall, Florida evening- demanding your attention but fleeting, because if sunsets lasted forever, then no one would care. I’d like to be a mirror and allow people to see themselves in the space that I hold. I probably am strong coffee with sweet aftertaste. And when I’m hard to swallow I mimic the salt of the ocean.

It’s amazing, the water that carries and the salt that chokes, but I don’t want to be salt. No - I’d rather be that water that dances freely. I can be water when I let myself go. I am the piano, but only because it makes me feel safe. I should sound graceful, but I’m not very graceful. I am the squeeze your mom gives you when the hug is not quite enough and the pit in your stomach when you wish she were there. I wish I was a ruler and had more structure. But I’m more like your favorite old t-shirt, not sure of it’s purpose but it' remains in the drawer. I am the tight pinch in your gut from laughing too hard. I’m a sculpture in my stubborn pride. I’m the rose quartz on my right ring finger and the old peach tree in your front yard.

There is something to be said about unconditional love.

I am the smell of fresh pine when my dad insists on carrying the Christmas tree himself, and I am the chocolate chip cookies that Santa never finishes.

But I am also a bird.

I am