Wing

Needles touching my flesh,

I scream.

Visions come upon me.

I am a bird.

Needles embroidering me, transferring ink;

feeling the grip of my captor

grasping my shoulder,

restraining.

Tearing pain,

cries,

my jailer snipping the wing from my body.

Scissors separating wing,

feather,

bone from flesh.

My soul remembers so many lifetimes,

lifetimes of pain when I lost my wing.

I could not fly.

Maimed, grounded.

Pain is in being grounded.

Pain is in healing.

Reattaching the wing,

remembering the past,

reliving the loss.

Feathers and bones,

sewn back on with needle and ink.

My task in this life is to heal,

to remember,

to remember how to fly.

2015 copyright by Katie Pifer http://www.witchpetals.wordpress.com

w1

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