“O human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?”
Dante Alighieri (The Divine Comedy)
i. set in stone
I envy the arciform angel
in the far corner
of the churchyard:
eyes heavenward,
lyre uplifted.
He watches the sliver of sky
between the belfry and the rectory.
His is a direct line to the lips of God,
the determination to see.
At vespers, he hovers over
the shuffling congregants,
wings reaching
to the way, an arrow eternally aimed
at the heart of God.
As I exit I too watch the waning sky
for a sign that flight is possible, and all I see
are
birds:
an arrowhead of geese,
a pair of wood ducks
(they mate for life)
and a solitary sparrow,
who nests in the angel’s ear.
I envy the arciform angel,
for though he will never fly,
he wakes to birdsong
at matins,
and is forever looking
into heaven.
ii. starling
the morning after:
feathers of a starling
on the front lawn.
the cat snoozes sunward,
slit-eyed, in regal repose.
iii. flightless
The wealth is in the wandering, they say.
I’m running far afield to prove them right.
I have no equal when I race the day,
not one to welcome me into their sight.
I see the insides of these piles of sand.
I’ll never see the sky the way you do.
I am becoming as the broken land,
and all because I know I can’t be you.
The flight is for the blest, not for the lost.
When sprinting, flying seems like but a snare,
for it is not a freedom at such cost:
a loss of ground for grasping at the air.
And yet I see the sparrow flying free
and wonder if he thinks the same of me.
iv. caged
I got this bird from my parents.
I kept it well, enjoyed
sweet songs and rich plumage,
until it wasted away
within the cage,
dropping scarlet feathers
on the floor.
I had just looked
over the top of my book
when I saw it fall,
featherless,
and at the impact
it burst its bounds
with white-hot flames
and melted the metal bars
to syrup all over my rug.
Then it blasted the window to shards
and flew away.
I sat still and stunned,
wishing to own
what I could not contain,
and knew desire.
