Magic

The magic comes
in the form of gifts
I don’t know how to accept.

A blue jay clings to my office window,
a remarkable feather lays in my path,
the writing comes so easily.

I take them, apologize,
forget to show gratitude
until it’s probably too late.

Then the silence arrives.
No birds. No words.
I worry the magic is angry.

Right when hope fades,
the magic reappears.
The bird always returns.

Published by

juliebarton

Writer and mom living in Northern California, author of the New York Times Bestselling memoir, Dog Medicine, How My Dog Saved Me From Myself. Hard at work on book #2.

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