Challenge: Offer some instructions.
First, start planning your escape routes.
If you want your freedom, you’ll have to stay
clever, secret, and silent.
Stash your resources somewhere safe
and don’t tell anyone, not even your mother,
that you plan to pull up roots.
Decide what’s absolutely necessary, and
steel yourself to lose the rest.
Say: things can be replaced.
Choose an ordinary day, like an April
Tuesday. Like today.
Put on your coat.
Forget the note —
words are meaningless —
and step over the threshold for
the last time.
Leave this place the way
a soul takes its last leap
out of the body.
Challenge: Include a bird. Be sure to identify the bird by species.
When I came out of the meeting, late afternoon, Friday,
the sun had decided to warm up the parking lot,
as if to underline “the weekend!” and increase the rise
of freedom's light making my skin thin and loose.
Still, I couldn’t get into my car and go, not when two robins
twittered in the budding tree just yards away, bobbing
back and forth on bare branches, flashing me their
bulging red bellies, fluttering and fidgeting like tiny soul
containers overfilled, harbingers, signals of something mighty
coming. I tried to sneak up on them, tried to hold my phone just
so, to frame them in a photo, to capture their promise in my
machine. But of course they flew, voices trailing back on
the warming air, scolding, celebrating, saying fool fool
looktoyourself and gogogo pursueyourown release ---