The Shape of Wings

Another day spent in my throbbing head. This day, a tightening noose, a smothering sheath of white, sterile gauze once loose. Moments I dread are swirling around in my head. (I close my eyes and fly away.) Minute by minute, it’s here, light flashing, thunder crashing, too alive. I wait for tomorrow to arrive but night hangs. I feel It's rapid breathing. Head down, haunch heavy, hunched and heaving, it stays and stays and will not go away. Counting seconds, I clutch the cumbrous clock willing its face to unmask, its hands to complete their task, but here I lay still tethered to this day. (I close my eyes and fly away.) I am not the anchor, not the purple fade, stitched skin pulling, lips parting in pain. Finally, I close my eyes and fly away. Do not come again to a body waiting for the grave, this vanishing tangled on the vine. Be free, fly away... I am a blue bird rising high above. I am perched in treetops, the turtle dove. I am the shape of wings in the air, I become. I fly over a hurting world, my suffering, and time. I am folklore, a fairy tale on high. Come with me, be free, feel the breeze or watch me fly away. Written 5/12/22 For: Shapeshifters and Shapeshifting Contest