Poem of the Week #125

How I Got My Wings

They began
as an annoying itch
between my shoulder blades,
running along the scapula
like poison ivy
turned pins and needles
turned porcupine quills.
They instigated an irritation
so profound I had to drink
myself to sleep each night;
a half bottle of cabernet
per side. I was beside myself
with grief over a wide array
of losses over a long trail
of years and tears.
Tears, I had shed
by the bucket.

But one day
the itch was gone.
I awoke with a feather
tickling my nose. I realized
my own wings caressed
my face like the hands
of a phantom lover
who wanted me blessed,
wanted to tease me awake
and surprise me
with a gift. The gift
to fly up out of the pain
and let the earth shift
at the drop of a hat
or the flap of a wing;
like going airborne
in a dream.

Lisa Vihos