in·sti·tu·tion
She was born with a
twelve foot wing span
-head tipped back
-mouth agog
-firey twinkle in her eyes
two years four months
sit down-stop jumping
first feather drops off
little bites for little girls
clump of fourteen unravels
don’t talk back
left wing begins to curl
cross your legs-sit up straight
three long slender quills
smile smile smile
right wing withers
you’re too emotional
last filoplumes vanish
roots sprout
twelve foot deep
Yes yes yes. Truth in your imagery. Wonderful repetition in the first and last lines. Says so much about the grounding of spirit and soul.
I agree with Marcia. Great poem!
Wings, roots. Powerful imagery, beautiful poem.
This is wonderful! You pack a lot of punch in a few words.
Once again you just throw truth at us with your frank and unique imagery! Life does pluck our wings!