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


of other things


like how you lost that stillborn

in the snowstorm


yet, Still I know,

As we take tea and cakes,


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