It’s usually a feather,
a single silky feather, shed on the side of the road
not unusual or tragic, just a long elegant feather
with its magnificent precision and all it stands for:
freedom, hope, strength and compassion.
But today I found a wing, a whole wing - Broken.
Perhaps, in my own despair, after walking so long
and searching so hard, I have magnified the tragedy.
But a wing, is not a feather.
Losing a feather is losing an eye lash, a strand of hair
Losing a wing is losing an arm. No! not losing an arm;
losing a wing is losing a heart.
A wing is a loss.
A tragedy. A life of crippling deprivation,
losing a wing is an end.
I wanted, in my despair, to lean on to a wall
my feet could not carry me
I wanted in my loneliness to fall to my knees
I wanted in my brokenness to plead to God, or curse him
there was a bird out there without its wing
and I understood.