v u l v a l i c i o u s
i am thinking about the time when i caught a cardinal in my hands, the way its heart pounded so strong beneath fragile bones, and how its wings strained even against the delicate hold of my fingers.
i cupped it, held it, turned, and released it.
the procedure required a plastic bag: i was afraid to touch the thing with bare hands. the bird bit at the plastic with its beak as i looked into its black eyes, and i pulled it up from where it was clutching at the chicken wire with its tiny feet. i pulled it up and held it.
it was all heart and wings and terror.
i am not this bird, but my heart. my heart.
it's faster and more tender than you could know, and it requires a touch that is firm yet delicate, as tender as it is. it's got the potential for being a bloody mess.
it and i await that sickening crunch, bone and feathers and breakage. it never feels far off. not now and not then. not ever.