She held her palms open on a blue,
blue day, while the sky poured open
in honour of her mind.
A wistful grey cloud lay out beyond.
The cracking whip of a thunder and
cold whispers, tore into the
Nodes of her guileless heart.
She sought for answers amidst
What she grew to never be her own.
The damp air reaffirmed what she
never thought would have.
And there lay, like a curveball, even before
It’s life began, a hatched young lifeless bird,
The membrane of its creation, holding
every untold story of it, in her skin.
Pale, opaque beak that almost formed to sing and shut eyes that almost opened to forage,
Thin filaments of wings, that would
One day be strong to fly away, far away,
And beat the strongest of winds, up to ascension.
Though now, here it lay, in her hands, pointless, waiting to be salvaged into the earth,
That has brought all of us here.
She threw a piece of her heart, and trowelled
a lump of mud heavier than her breathe, and
Placed this lithe creation, which was here,
If only for a drop in the expanse of time,
A few inches deeper into the circle of life.
And as her praying hands buried the esse,
As deftly as she does with her dreams,
The ritual of love gave away, the embers,
The tears wrung from tired eyes, called
Another mother, who perched on the
highest branch and cooed away all the hope
She held in herself, once upon a time,
and sang a solemn requiem,
for her soul below.