Caring

I’m not sure why he believes
caring took flight,
as though the cage door,
I’d somehow left open,
forgot to close it one morning
and the window too

next to the chair
where I’d sit so often
in the living room
to read and reflect
where caring must have
also sat for who knows
how long on the windowsill

before it spread its wings
I’d never clipped, and felt
how the air could lift it
into that great expanse
of blue, that how could I blame
caring now? I would have left too.

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