Learning in the Wild

Learning in the Wild

A sparrow cuts the sky in half

and nobody tells it what shape to make.

We name learning

like it’s a desk, a test,

a sequence of folders in a drive.

But I saw you watching

a spider thread a web in the corner,

and your breath stopped

like it had something to say.

Real learning startles.

It doesn’t wait for the bell.

It rides in on your grandmother’s story

or the time your dog ran away

and you waited in the rain.

It can’t be flash-drived

into your spine.

You shape it

with the cracked bowl of your memory,

your hope, your questions that won’t settle.

And I—I just keep sweeping the floor,

keeping the room open enough

for the wild to land.