Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

Feather
By Cammy Thomas

             — for John Humpstone

I lured birds with breadcrumbs
and seeds, made a nest-trap
for the giant sea eagle
and killed it for its pinions.

Meanwhile my son
was helping me build the engine
of his death — the wings
had to be serried, graduated,
and the wax just thick enough.

Lifted off, stretched out,
swooping and laughing, rising higher,
he glided too fast
toward the Sunís bright face,
dashed, pivoted, turned —

I shouted when I saw
the first feather come free,
dagger-shaped, floating down,
lazy in the sky.

The eye of the Sun flared at his back
when he started to spin —
and then in a brave, stunned
silence, he fell.


Copyright © 2020 by Cammy Thomas.