Pagan · White Feathers
Brother,
they wrapped me in white casts
yesterday, after I fell off our tree.
I wanted to fly.
You said I looked like
I had white feathers
when you visited me.
You said they’d do.
I believed you, Brother.
I even promised
to keep them clean and white.
Dirty feathers were no good,
you said.
But when I tried to fly again,
just this morning,
I tripped, and I fell.
I’m sorry I bled.
I’m sorry I stained the feathers.
pagan © 1997