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