I started out frozen

Still singing some kind of song

Day 2 of National Poetry Writing Month

I started out frozen, 
everything but the core 
waiting to thaw.
You can see a lot happening 
around you in the world
when folks can’t see you,
forget about you, cuz
you’re stuck there in that 
reverse ice sculpture
waiting for the sun 
to shine down or 
the temps to go up:
you can see friends laughing
as they pass by, their 
heads tossed back, their 
feet in sync, you can see 
a man wiping a tear away -- 
he didn’t think
anyone would see. 
You see a hawk dive bomb 
a turtledove at feeder 
miss and dive again, 
snatching the blood red 
cardinal instead.

I started out frozen, 
wishing to move but 
unwilling to take a step 
in any direction. 
When it hurts you 
stay so still holding 
the seams together, 
last straining threads
keeping the mess
in place. When you are
frozen, you forget anyone
else exists. You forget love,
you forget how 
to ask for things,
how to form a sentence. 
If you stay still enough
you won’t have to be, 
maybe. 
You’ll lose your shadow,
brain slowing till,
finally,
you can sleep.

I started out frozen but
sun comes around
eventually --
to touch the knee,
kiss the head,
loosen the tender places.
Buds break through,
throwing their 
confetti petals 
on the wind.
I stretch my legs,
thrust myself upward
into the blue sky.
Turning to go
I spy a smudge
of sorry yellow,
lonesome cardinal 
on her branch, 
still singing
some kind of song.

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PROMPT 3: Begin with “I started out”