She perches on the pergola.
As long as this home has been mine,
she’s made hers nestled over the
motion sensing light that no longer shines.
Mourning by morning, today at least,
she and I both cry.
Me, for another single line;
she, for another failed brood.
It’s nature, they say.
To try and fail.
To love and lose.
To live and let fly.
But what of dreams? And humanity?
The catastrophes that make the day to day?
To let that lay would be tragedy.
So up we soar, she and I,
from our respective nests.
We will try again.
Hopes forever in the sky.
Brittany Drehobl is a children's librarian on hiatus and a somewhat new mother hailing from Chicagoland. Her writing about books and libraries has been featured with WBEZ (Chicago's NPR source) and School Library Journal. She looks forward to tapping into her Creative Writing degree and expanding her work to include young adult fiction, personal essays, and poetry. Find her online at brittdrehobl.com.