Sprouting Wings

(stories of becoming)


Phantom limb


like a phantom limb

that you just can't scratch


like a fleeting vision

in the striking of a match

 

that you just can't catch

 

I can feel my wings

begin to hatch


   *  *  *

 

Sprouting wings


I've started sprouting wings

I can feel them shivering

beneath my skin

 

look what you made me do

 

yes, I tell you

I'm sprouting wings

though you may talk of other things

 

like what the future may bring

or why I never learned to sing...

 

and yet

 

and yet, I tell you

I can feel my wings

beneath my skin

 

like daggers heated on a flame

like splintered glass

like shards of ice

 

yes, mother,

I've started sprouting wings

though of course you'd rather talk, yes,

you would rather talk

always,

of other things

 

like how you lost that stillborn

in the snowstorm

 

yet, Still I know,

As we take tea and cakes,

still,

I know

how to tell

the real me

from the fake


   *  *  *

 

My secret chrysalis

 

my secret chrysalis

hidden in the image


of a broken wing

a severed finger

an endless violence

 

scratch a piece of wood

and you will find me

lift up a stone

I am here

 




© 2012 William Baker