Only So Many Feathers
I dreamt of falling and there were pieces scattered everywhere I built my nest. Shining objects dripped from my magpie mouth, but you can’t glue back each disparate feather or thought because you were right when you said “the past is full of anvils” and I can’t wear my crown anymore. I miss the devils, who never made me feel ugly beside them kindly distracting with glass and with razors once upon a time. Once upon a time, I read the ashes of lost books, stirred our ghosts— and sang them to the mansion of souls, or the dark river, or the kingdom under the hill. The embers are dead now, the feathers gone, and tears burned my throat all night for people I cannot remember.
August 27th, 2015