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?
… 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.