Photo by Alex Blăjan on Unsplash
A bit flighty,
A bit cagey,
Maybe a few other words,
That make you think of feathered things,
That fill your head with birds.
Let it be,
Let it linger,
a soft, steady ache,
Let me thread it through my fingers,
And I'll see what I can make.
These stories of bygone days,
They hardly feel like my own anymore,
Like I've lived a dozen other lives,
Before suddenly washing ashore.
The year before last I went out to sea,
with an old piece of ritualistic jewelry,
paddled out as far as I could,
and drowned that final part of me.
About the Creator
Dee Yazak
A technical and science writer by trade that dabbles in poetry (and occasionally fiction) for fun. Her poetry focuses on themes of aimlessness, nostalgia, and the loose, delicate threads of human connection.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.