You sat there in the dark, collecting dust
For days upon days
As you laid on a bed of pens and
Scissors with a bent handle.
I let you out
For a short visit here and there,
Undoing your jacket of dust
With a flutter, and a frown on my part.
Tick, tick, said the messenger, and then
Tick again, until my
Inked wing found a stable place for you.
It was then you received a tighter vest, and
A few more buttons before
You took to the sky while I watched
From where I crouched on the muddy ground.
May your next take be amazing.
Christy Birmingham (20th century) Canada
This and many other poems are available on Christy's poetry blog Poetry Parfait.
Nice find.
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