Avian

You were so appropriately named, Robin.
Your bones so delicate and frail.
Avian.

How you quivered
beneath the hands that tried to still you.

You were so afraid to fly.
We thought your wings were broken.

You spent your nights flailing against the bars of your cage,
a flimsy cage of a failing marriage,
of daughters who were never your own.

A cage you constructed yourself--
a mild attempt to keep yourself sane.

All along, the door of your cage was wide open.
You knew it--that is what made you most afraid.

I sat in your cage with you--
night after night.

Your hands I remember more than your face.
Watching the lit cigarette between those long graceful fingers--
one after the other,
each a tiny measure of time.

I wish I could have closed the cage door.