WINGS

I was born with wings.

When I was still very small I broke them

flying against the wind,

trying to escape

a fearsome thing.

I crashed to the angry earth

and hit the ground running,

forgetting I could fly.

For years I collected cuts

in my feet and dust

in my wings

trying to outrun that fearsome thing.

Somewhere in the blur of all the urgency

things chasing me

and life passing me by,

I slowly realized…

At gunpoint, under streetlight

under neon, under big knife

on deathbed, in coma

with sick mama and grandmama,

under mean men,

at death’s door,

in the downpour of blood and tears—

a song was still breathing

in the phantom of my broken wings,

growing as I ran from the fearsome things.

Eventually the song got so big

its rhapsody

carried me

back to the sky,

lifted me off my bleeding feet,

and I remembered I could fly.