UNMANIFESTED WINGS
Tiny nubs poke just
above my shoulder blades,
Bound, restricted,
cut, bloodied, plucked, strapped to my body
Underneath a façade
of stiletto prestige.
The shadow of my
subconscious silently commands:
DO
NOT
GROW.
Every blood feather
Every bit of down
comfort
Painfully pulled at
the root
So frequently that
it goes completely unnoticed.
Until the day it
stopped…suddenly
The day the shadow
went silent.
A cone of grace
formed
All around me
With a complete
sense of peace.
Slowly, v e r y s lo
w l y
The bloodied nubs
formed scabs
And scabs gave rise
to tiny quills
Which birthed new
blood feathers
And puffs of down
comfort.
And after all of
these years,
I realized that the
tiny nubs
that poked just
above my shoulder blades
weren’t nubs at all.
Instead, I
discovered
that inside my cone
of grace,
through time and s l
o w healing
I had been given
wings
so long ago
that I don’t even
remember
when forgot how to
fly.
We all have wings-
Unmanifested nubs
Yet to be
discovered.
What would happen
if we stopped
restricting them
and just let them
grow?
Original Art and Poetry by Heather Thompson, Blue Phoenix Art
 |
| Flight Paths 2018 Heather Thompson Mixed Media 20 x 20 |
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