tiny dragon sits and waits patiently biding her time

curled up within her safe shell of blue with dark uneven spots she rests not in a nest of twigs and leaves or pebbles and mud but instead upon my tongue

sometimes I roll her around my mouth (gently, gently, never crushing)

she is smooth and a little sweet, a little bitter

she waits

I wait

there are times I feel her stretch her damp wings almost ready to fly but then she curls up cramped and snug again then closes her eye

moments draw near and pass me by when I desire to break her shell upon the ridged roof of my mouth

there, just there. and inhale deeply before puffing out forcefully

tail over beak over feet

tumbling at first she’d fly or fall but at least she would be out amongst the clouds

instead she’s waiting and waiting and dreaming of flying while great big drops of sadness roll down my cheeks

my feet rooted in a salty puddle of my own making and design

be brave, wake up and fly

but she’s curled up tightly ever patiently

somehow, she swears, she’ll know when it’s finally to be her time

(yet I can see the future – I haven’t the heart to tell her there are no more branches left to nest upon

no leaves to gather

no gentle embrace of the spreading oak, no

for they were cut down some twelve years ago

gathered, stacked and dried for another winter’s fire by careless, unfeeling hands)

I wonder if she ever wonders why I’m always crying

tara caribou | ©2020

22 Comments on “Hatch

  1. The ending is a surprise, and it is sad. Hopefully, we humans will one day return to nature to nourish and honor her life-giving powers. Maybe one day, it will be safe for dragons to take flight and your tears will dry.

    Liked by 1 person

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