The Psychic

A poem for my late father, written during his favorite season and one in which I was searching.

The Psychic

one year the psychic told me 
my father had never left. 
we'd flown together 
all this time, 
and i'd ridden on his wings, 
his whispers weaving through my hair, 
then into my heart, 
my thoughts.

a bird came to me soon after, 
little hums outside my window, 
heart beating too fast still, 
watching, 
waiting, 
his voice telling me always: 
do not be afraid to move 
forward.

a bird flew into my house 
on father's day, 
and i heard it laugh, 
as i screamed, 
and we flew together again; 
it perched on the very things i wanted 
to show him most in this life 
—he always told the best jokes.

the next year the psychic told me 
to ask for help when i needed it. 
to let dad 
and the universe 
show me.

And I did, once— 
he smiled and said, 
Run, run 
like the wind!

I want to ask again, 
to hear what magic the birds 
might sing 
as the blossoms take hold 
in this, 
our season of rain 
then sun 
then growth.

Like the birds, you always loved spring best.

Poem by Victoria McGinley, originally published here in April 2019.

Images: San Francisco (via @eslee)  ·  Blue Dots (found here)  ·  Summer outfit (found here)  ·  Beige line drawing (via @ofatomsandlines)  ·  Dot top (found here)  ·  Painted Stripes (via @rebeccaatwooddesigns)  ·  Superbloom (via @cagrownofficial, photo by @everchanginghorizon)  ·  Tulips (via @notetosarah)  ·  Vintage J.Crew (via @simplicitycity)  ·  Grand Canyon (@jedidiahjenkins) ·  Yosemite sunset (via @snarkblurb)  ·  Towel outline (found here) ·  ‘The Psychic’ by Victoria McGinley