A stainglassed wing
Folded, unmoving
Seemed to silently shame
My being.
For its perfection,
One line
Upon clear tissue
Upon new line,
Is better than the beauty
I attempt
Whether well-slept
Or dream drudged.
But that stain of glass,
Its lightness resting
With honeysuckle
And air,
Does not hear of
Your woes
Or thrills
And cannot aid the scraped knee
After adventures.
It only sits, folded,
And at times
Flutters
(Ok, it soars)
But how you bring air
Beneath the boring parts
Of day
How you make a moment
Soar with laughter.
This wing should envy me.
3 responses so far ↓
Mommy // October 15, 2007 at 6:35 am
Absolutely beautiful! That is what you are. You captured such a profound thought in this poem…what separates us from all other animals is our spirit! I love yours!! Your lines are perfect too!! Love, Mommy
Laura West // October 15, 2007 at 12:40 pm
Linda, you made me cry actual tears with this one! Just beautiful.
Kelly // October 15, 2007 at 5:17 pm
Every time I think I’ve been impressed to the max by you, you out-do yourself again! You are brilliant, Linda and I’m so proud to be your sis!
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