Sunday, October 11, 2009

Flapping



author’s note:

I give birth the way an opossum does–my offspring are born poorly formed and diminutive.  So, like the opossum, they require much nurturing after leaving the womb.


FLAPPING

I’m flapping
the way a crane
flaps its wings
when trying to lift
from the lake.

I’m flapping my ears
after hearing Bird
elevate on
his saxophone--

I too want to ascend
to a heaven
of my own invention--
a heaven discovered
through stone work
and the whimsy
of creation.

But though I’m flapping
I’m still down.
My feet still wear
worn-out shoes
covered with old
flakes of doubt.

I am not the crane.
I am not the Bird.
So how can I rise
to heaven’s call?

However...

didn’t the crane
once reside in an egg?
As did the Bird.
As did those petals of music
in their bud--?

I feel the heaviness
of the shell
on my shoulders and back
but I’m hoping

that if I can polish enough
through my attrition...

if I can dine on
enough meager meals
of disappointment...

if I can finally fully unravel
through these interior revolutions...

and then...

--after all that frightful battle--
arrive at the wisdom of surrender

maybe–I said maybe--
this crust will crack.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
earnest audio
new steps

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