Feathers

she moves slow, languid
the silhouette from the night sky
frames her breasts
the curve of her thigh

her wings are lovely
she knows this
they are silver gilt
and woolen white
they rest upon her back
and come full circle
cradling her as an embrace

turning her head once to the right
she listens close

someone is calling to her

she sighs, nods her head
knowing full well
what she must do

walking to the dresser
she lifts the lid
the wooden box creaks
ever so slightly

it has been ages since she has had to open it

and places within
her heart

lying on the bed
she smooths her chestnut mane

and speaks to God
who shows her the future

every single time
it is she that has to let go
not them

they think of her and smile

yet this is what she is

a harbor
               a bridge
                             a port

she must not do this again
she has told herself before

never
again

yet inside
she is so full of wonder
so full of wonder

so
full
of
wonder

it is not a bad thing
she thinks

to simply

love.



© Susan Marie 2013