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The Light Within
by Sarah Wilson |
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When I was born, Mother began mumbling to herself. In her palm she seized che sarà, sarà. I drank from the cupped flower she offered, still remembering to fly, but not far. The madness was seen through my eyes to her blue within. She told me I was her only bird, her bird of air. In the crippled flight a few bees lingered, the stinging wound wrapped my heart, each word needing a maternal Band-Aid. The hummingbird still shivers, but is ready to fly, faraway, faculties now nurse the nectar. |
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