pelican

whenever you see a lack,
a crack in the world,
a nest full of clamouring beaks
open in hunger,
you have to find your feathers
you have to grow a beak yourself.
you have to feed those nestlings
somehow, you, yourself,
even if it means you peck
with borrowed beak
at your own sore chest
and feed them your life-blood,
because that is what being alive means.
we are called to care
unstintingly for all in need,
not just our own,
those we know
or resemble most.
we have to be ready to help
without hesitation,
no holding back,
like mothers who pour out
their life into their children
that they may live and thrive and shine.
to allay hunger is holy,
the holiest of impulses,
to pull down what divides,
quench the fires that threaten,
patch, mend, give, feed,
hold, help, heal,
restore, repair,
and love.
anything less
is a betrayal of life.
only when we see in the mirror
a shifting light-dark skin,
fur-scales-feathers-hair,
root and leaf,
rain and wind,
only then do we see truly
and know ourselves
myriad, both less and greater
than we thought,
expanding into wholeness,
hearts breaking into flight
as we find our way home
together.