Sunday, December 13, 2020

Goose Wing I

ellenmn CC License

I nestled my beak in my taupe feathers,
the moon had almost risen; it was night.
The waters of Fish Trap Creek shone their bright
hue in the solstice of crisp blue winter,
the essence of the earth was as ether.
Once under the sun, now the dark's night-light 
shone cream resplendent, oval and lips tight.
Gathering, reeds still in our beaks bitter,
I padded with my webbed feet into grass
that held me like a bassinet holds child,
my maternal breast both heavy and near.
I'd glided silently through water glass,
my wing was thought as proud as I was mild,
my presence was not damp nor fraught with fear.

Emily Isaacson