poetry

100 days…84th day

Clipped Wings

dreamingdoubleexposure

How did it come to this?

A forced landing, weakened wings

a solid source of former strength,

taking you through 

dark clouds and heavy downpours.

 

Those resilient wings assured your

bodily independence

as you soared through storms,

high winds battering

and pressing upon your life.

whiteblossom

 

Now those same weathered wings

bear evidence of missing feathers,

thinning bones and shrunken wingspan,

no longer able to lift and sour

or glide with the gusto that carried

you through turbulent tempests.

 

Slowly, slowly you learn to accept

those clipped wings, to be content

with nesting in the arms of elderhood.

csublossomsb&w

 

You submit to this final appendage

of your journey, bid farewell

to cherished autonomy

and slowly fold your worn wings

in peaceful surrender.

                                                        ~Joyce Rupp*

 

*cited:

Fly While You Still Have Wings

Joyce Rupp

 

100 days…75th day

Mother

I am always afraid of my mother,

ominous, threatening,

a pain in the depths of my consciousness.

100days62

My mother is like a shell,

so easily broken.

Yet the fact that I was born

bearing my mother’s shadow

cannot be changed.

100dayscsuflowers

She is like a cherished, bitter dream

my nerves cannot forget

even after I awake.

She prevents all freedom of movement.

If I move she quickly breaks,

and the splinters stab me.

                                                                                                         ~Nagase Kiyoko*

 

*cited:

Women Poets of Japan

Trans: K Rexroth & I Atsumi