Bird that flew free

I gather hope in my pockets.

Shiny stones

smoothed by time.

I think of the bird

that flew free from her cage one day,

and realized the world is beautiful.

I patch the holes in my 

old 

loved clothes 

with fabric passed through generations.

I think of the shiny stones gathered in my pockets,

like hope that swells within me,

when I remember the bird that flew free,

like the bird,

I realize the world is beautiful.