Stephanie Tom
Self-Portrait as Bird in the Hand
As all redemption arcs do, this story begins
with a swallow tale. I keep a bird in my pocket
and can only fall asleep when I know it is safe.
We rise with the sun and wander across the
country searching for paths to chase to the
horizon. Spring beckons me to abandon
my hollow and search for higher ground in
a land far from here. The river whispers
that if no one else, the water will always
remember my name as it runs away from home.
My bird doesn’t leave my pocket, scared of
drowning. We find ourselves at the riverbank
anyways. I let down my hair in the shade, and
find myself, as a fledgling does, hovering
at the threshold of the endless sky above.
I suppose that this is where we will all find
ourselves in the end, mourning memories that
we never had to begin with. Roads that we
only imagined cities at the end of. The names
of everyone I once knew only sounds learned
through practice, pitched in my empty mouth.
The water is cold around my feet when I step
in. I fist my hair and raise a knife to my hands.
My bird shudders at the sight of the silver tooth.
When I am ever brave enough, I will burn every
dead thing that has ever nested in my heart and
let their skins fall away. I want to cut off all the
split ends and let them fly away, like wishes in
the wind, like birds on a breeze. In another life
I baptize this dream with a new name, with new
wings. But for now, I stay still – I watch the river
run away with the pieces of me that I’ve clipped,
hold myself tighter when I hear my name run over
the rocks and disappear downstream. We are all
afraid of memories that betray our namesakes. For
example, my bird is too scared of falling into the
earth to fly out of my pocket. My greatest fear is that
someday the only thing I will be able to recognize
in the mirror is my face and forget the voice that
belonged to it. The split ends settle, and so does
the sun on the horizon. My bird falls asleep in the
hollow of my palm, its heart never closer to home.
with a swallow tale. I keep a bird in my pocket
and can only fall asleep when I know it is safe.
We rise with the sun and wander across the
country searching for paths to chase to the
horizon. Spring beckons me to abandon
my hollow and search for higher ground in
a land far from here. The river whispers
that if no one else, the water will always
remember my name as it runs away from home.
My bird doesn’t leave my pocket, scared of
drowning. We find ourselves at the riverbank
anyways. I let down my hair in the shade, and
find myself, as a fledgling does, hovering
at the threshold of the endless sky above.
I suppose that this is where we will all find
ourselves in the end, mourning memories that
we never had to begin with. Roads that we
only imagined cities at the end of. The names
of everyone I once knew only sounds learned
through practice, pitched in my empty mouth.
The water is cold around my feet when I step
in. I fist my hair and raise a knife to my hands.
My bird shudders at the sight of the silver tooth.
When I am ever brave enough, I will burn every
dead thing that has ever nested in my heart and
let their skins fall away. I want to cut off all the
split ends and let them fly away, like wishes in
the wind, like birds on a breeze. In another life
I baptize this dream with a new name, with new
wings. But for now, I stay still – I watch the river
run away with the pieces of me that I’ve clipped,
hold myself tighter when I hear my name run over
the rocks and disappear downstream. We are all
afraid of memories that betray our namesakes. For
example, my bird is too scared of falling into the
earth to fly out of my pocket. My greatest fear is that
someday the only thing I will be able to recognize
in the mirror is my face and forget the voice that
belonged to it. The split ends settle, and so does
the sun on the horizon. My bird falls asleep in the
hollow of my palm, its heart never closer to home.
Biography
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Stephanie Tom (she/her) is currently an undergraduate student at Cornell University. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poetry has either appeared or is forthcoming in Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Sine Theta Magazine, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Hobart, and Honey Literary, among other places. She has previously been recognized by the national Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, the International Torrance Legacy Creativity Awards, and the international Save the Earth Poetry Contest. She is an alumna of the Adroit Journal Summer Mentorship Program, a 2019 winner of the Poets & Writers Amy Award, and the author of Travel Log at the End of the World (Ghost City Press, 2019). When she’s not writing she dabbles in dance, martial arts, and graphic design. You can read more of her work at tomstephanie.weebly.com.
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