feather free

Everyday I watch you

sit on the porch and pluck

out your wings

it seems a strange thing to do

after all the trouble of growing them

but then it was a strange thing

to grow them in the first place

How you managed it with those distinctly

human bones I'll never know but I suspect

it had something to do with the boy I saw once

slipping between the trees with earthen grace

with wide hawk wings tucked beneath old denim

and feet that didn't seem to leave a mark

I know. I went to look.

But they called me back to say

that you were sick, that you were crying

through the fog of a fever

saying that you saw feathers, that you heard wings

And I cried by your bed for the angels to leave you be

The left you alone but you were never the same

always in long sleeves never with a smile

and I wonder what covered you so.

Everyday I watch you pluck your feathers

from your scarred arms, watch them fall on the littered porch.