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
5 thoughts on "in·sti·tu·tion"
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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!