Tale feathers 

Have I become blinded
by the follies of feathers,
immune to the bird’s tune
in spring’s morning tears,
lost sight of the soft down,
stunned into failing silence
by the fluttering of wings
just outside my window
as night’s kiss fades into day?
I’ve hastily penned this flight
and written my fondest skin
on the page, desperate to soar
among the limitless clouds
like waves above the horizon,
anxious to escape this trespass
in a tale I’ve made my own.


About today’s poem: As my daughter’s grow into their own, I find myself wondering what role I’ll play in the coming moments that will define them. This poem is a reflection of a multitude of fears, including the fear that my expectations of that role will outweigh its jurisdiction.


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