wingtips

Wingtips frayed from beating air

Invisible strength

Buoyed up I can see what I wish

I had already known

Junkyards stacked like Jenga

Filled with must-haves

Triple-jointed wishes

Bent away from intents

Trunks with holidays and families

Stuffed inside

 

Floating, I can see treetops

And sunlight before it’s filtered.

Flowers are polka dots for toddlers

And romantic walks that end in tragedy.

Someone has to do die.

What comes in between?

 

Rushing wind brings energy

Above the graveyard

Lives growing downward

Planting roots

Shoots sent sideways

Intertwining vitality

Gifts lay on grass as if we could

Reach through the tangle

Time is lost being sorry

For a history



(c) Lauren Otheim – 2011