When Scissors Came
Fledgling American Crow on
Hand
photo by Robert Langham
I was born black winged vocal
on the tongue of silence.
Harsh tried to teach me
to fly without words,
but sight isn’t deaf.
With every “hush”
I grew stronger.
When scissors came
to cut me from the nest,
I’d already learned
the language of wings.
©Susie Clevenger 2019
I love the last lines in this Susie. I think birds early do learn the language of wings.
ReplyDeleteThis is a powerful poem Susie! What is more vital to a writer or poet than being heard and having a voice? That first line is sheer poetic brilliance!
ReplyDeleteOoooo--this gave me shivers. What a story.
ReplyDeleteYou go, high flying bird.
ReplyDelete"Vocal on the tongue of silence" - wow! This is powerful and I LOVE those closing lines - when the scissors came "I'd already learned the language of wings." Spectacular!
ReplyDeleteMay we ALL learn the language of wings!
ReplyDelete