She waits.
She's been waiting
for a long time.
The West Virginian sunshine
isn't as strong as it is elsewh
ere. She likes the dark. Years
and years ago, when her feat
hers were as white as fresh s
now she would only come ou
t at night to watch the moon.
The soft, silvery light would
make her glow. She felt pure.
That was a long time ago. Now, her
wings were as black as soot.Her sen
sitive eyes had learnt to adjust to th
e harsh daylight. Sometimes, when
she felt bold enough, she would fly
around in daytime. She doesn't muc
h anymore. They're always watching
her.
She always preferred the night and h
ow it would wrap around her like a b
lanket. Or a hug. An embrace from d
arkness. The moon would still glow
bright and assuring. It reminds her o
f why she waits.
When the bridge finally falls away, she runs.
While men still talk of her, and all the terror
she tried not to cause, she decides she does
n't care. With a single flap of her wings she t
ravels miles.
She glides through shrouds of mist until she
can't see the tips of her own wings in front o
f her.The woods sprawl out before her, but s
he could never be lost. She clicks her beak,
once,
twice,
And after a third, the outline of a spade like head appears.
My dear, it has been so long.
I know.
Can you ever forgive me?
You have waited, I have waited, let's put it behind us.
Feathered arms wrap around a thin and scrawling frame. Pulled tight and held together.
It's delicate.
It's tissue thin.
It's love.