You are a walking sky
I’ve learned to fly through
my trepidation dragging storms
then light and red kites, murmurations
parting and mending like night swarms
sometimes a dark hawk riding heat
over the smallest of prey
or the day’s yellow promise
spreading warm for two ravens
cawing in outward circles of awe.
My personal turbulence, drops
in pressure, weather of my own
parents’ hungry patterns now mine.
Let them go. They are not you, or me.
I am just another sky joining yours.
We are the beginning of a widest blue.
(Please, my dear, do as I say, not as I do.)


3 Responses to “Child”

  1. fey says:

    no worries here, they are a rabble of butterflies, finding their way through all

  2. wordweed says:

    I now declare your post the official last line of the poem

  3. Fey says:

    Well then I shall perform my duties properly and I thank ye, mum.

    they are but a rabble of butterflies
    finding their way through all whethers

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