Poem | Wings

Image credit: Jennifer Thangavelu

​you weren't born with them
fully formed, you know,
no dorsal petals
damp and molded 
to fetal folds you were in,
but they are with you 
within:
waiting, pale
and aching to sail
like sprouts seeking
sun

which, by the way,
They said,
avoid
They said
don't fly too close
take the middle path, my dear
it's safe
it's clear

so you did
so you sat 
so bored before the blackboard
as They harnessed you
in feathered wax

yet
as rays slid between blinds
you could read between lines:
every time a 
(school)
bell rings, an angel gets their wings
(clipped)

and still your own true two
bore upward
drilling through layers
of fascia and fascism,
scapula and scorn
you've learned to live torn
from the inside

do you know why Icarus fell,
wracked with sorrow?
can't you see, child,
his wings were borrowed
from bee and bird?
haven't you heard
a feather's only fetter when false?

those swelling bruises on your back
someday will crack
as regiments of fine filament
in one hustling rush thrash through flesh and flash
into iridescent crescents
humming, warming
in the sun

Come closer
sings that sphere of siren fire
as you rise to the skies
there is nothing to fear
in joy of flight or threat of sear
for child, know this:
the cosmos can only kneel
to the true,
to the real

- Jennifer Thangavelu