Starling Sister

Dear starling sister,

Faceless sister, nameless sister,

Our sisterhood in shared pain, not shared name –

I remember now that I saw you on the floor beside me,

In the dark shed behind the house –

The few times he locked me there.

Dream? Memory? Nightmare? It swirls uncertainly

But I saw your scared eyes.

Another flightless starling, cat-caught and dying.

I was 8. How old were you?

A new memory, like ink, washes away your scared eyes –

Me, grown up, in my own, safe front yard.

I stand between a trembling starling,

And a neighborhood stray, hissing as I empty my watering can on it

That cat wasn’t hungry. I watched it – right in front of me – my orange striped friend

Turned to teeth and claws. The starling was too stupid to fly away.

Stupid bird! I said. Stupid bird, just fly away!

I stand over the shivering lump in the grass,

Fending off the cat who would play with it until it died.

I watch the bird try to extend its wings, and realize. It’s a fledgling.

The starling didn’t fly away BECAUSE IT COULDN’T.

IT DIDN’T FLY AWAY BECAUSE IT COULDN’T.

I want to wring the cats neck, but it’s enough to watch it run away in shame –

I put that starling in a box, I drove that starling to get help,

But I never called to ask if it survived.

The nightmare shed swirls back into existence around me, and I am 8 again …

They cut your wings away – I watched –

I wanted to rip their throats out – I wanted to explode the whole evil shed with my fury –

I’m sorry I ever felt mad at you, starling sister, for getting caught –

Had I wings, I would have seized your hands and flown you up, up

Up, away from those evil men

The thunder would be our song, the storm our home,

And the lightning our anger.

I hang my head. Shame.

Instead of a lion’s roar, I laid frozen on the floor.

Instead of saving wings, my father gave me bloody nubs.

Instead of watching with you, I looked away.

I have forgotten you all of these years.

Starling sister, nameless sister, faceless sister,

My own wings are grown in now – they are small, but here in that inky shed of tenuous memory – I wrap my little wings around you.

Little good they may do. My tears cannot wash. My lonely voice cannot summon the thunder.

But I honor you, the girl my father killed.

Fallen fledgling.

Around us both, wings of fire and a familiar face. Him – person sized, yet also impossibly huge. And He sings.

Starling sister, tell me, what does the Savior sing?

His words are not words, but light before my face

Golden, burning, roaring, leaping – I become aware of my own body in the fire –

I cannot look anywhere but in – Deep at my golden center, blackness pulses.

I reach my little hands and hold it, this festering pustule of pain, pull it

Forth and offer the whole monstrosity to Him.

I hear: the flutter of wings or the roar of a fire?

My little hands become … empty.

Light rushes to fill the space, through my hands, and into the gap inside.

Above me, a storm of starlings, clouds made of golden wings fluttering,

A roar of thunder and lighting crashes

The starling song.

And there, I see you, starling sister,

Flying with your flock,

On wings of golden fire,

Lightings erupt from your throat,

And you join the others in His thunder song.