Outside my Door

This morning
I watered the plants
matched the last two socks
and found a bird
building a nest
inside an old Christmas tree

My youngest son
said he would put it away
before he left

That was January

It is June now

Three little birds
are waiting to be fed
and somewhere
my own child
is learning
how to live
without me

The coffee got cold

The laundry
is still in the dryer

The birds
do not know
they have built their home
inside a holiday

I do not know
when my son
will come home again.

It occurs to me
that perhaps
this was all
a simple life

ever meant to be—

loving something enough

to let it leave

and leaving enough behind

for something else

to call it home