incubation

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Egg – Eliza Heeney

There is the hope of feathers

In the fibres of my bones

Sticking my skin with the pins and needles

Of my biological impossibility

 

I dream of wings

Bursting out of bruised shoulders

Alabaster feathers from alabaster bones,

The only piece of me not spotted by harsh sun

 

I am curled within the white shell

My nestled yet rumbling egg

In all the fluid of things I am not yet

And I dream of feathers

I hope for wings

 

But i am no bird

I sit with too many bones I can’t name

Clunking one against another

Little bird my mama calls me

But I have no feathers,

Just pins and needles.

 

On whose wings can i fly?

(Eliza Heeney)

 

… i long to fly. to soar…

but so many days i feel like i’m down here

“struggling, stumbling on the ground.”

 

? is there an area of your life where you long to fly

?  what weight do you carry on your bruised shoulders today

>>> today, can you rest, nestled safely, until it is time to soar?

 

we don’t want to wish for the things we are not. 

but still we wish to be so much more than we are.

we want so much more than what is. 

bless these pins and needles, 

these looming impossibilities, 

these restless limbs.

and fear of falling.

bless our desires and our failures. 

bless our wishes and our laments. 

help us rest in these shell-shocked bodies,

in these nests we need but we resent.

help us trust the feathers forming, 

give us peace as we endure the cracking,

still our bones, as we lay shaking, 

and may we trust that new life is growing.  

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