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True Flight

June 12, 2009

 Ahh…getting ready to go out of town with a stack of things to do. Haven’t been writing as much. 🙂 But here’s a poem I just finished writing for Poetry Friday. This week, Poetry Friday’s hosted by Critique de Mr. ChompChomp: mrchompchomp.blogspot.com/2009/06/poetry-friday-roundup.html. Check out all the great poems! 


True Flight


slow the egret flies towards the mountain. 

ten dozen horizons her wings brushed 

before she swooped to sink her feet 

in mirage marshlands perched atop high hills 

remembered in someone else’s bones. 


unbroken snowy white of sky and feathers           

prism into rainbows when marrow wakes.

the last blue flicker of pilot light, the night

dance of threadbare plumage dreams of birth–

wet rapids drummed, then sung from heart. 


awakened by a voice familiar, she cries. 

childhood bones knit and soar back to fields

of twice-born reeds swaying softly in sea wind. 

her flight fades harsh mountain sunsets to

dawn her feet in water, her grounding arc for air. 


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4 Comments leave one →
  1. Anonymous permalink
    June 13, 2009 1:45 am

    I envy those who know this kind of intimacy with nature; experiences that allow you to use the natural world to examine our emotional affairs.
    Beautiful and sad. What is this ache or have I misintrepretted the tone here?

    • June 13, 2009 3:27 pm

      Thank you for the kind words. And yes, you have interpreted the tone right. It’s the ache or longing for coming home–to oneself. It’s a long journey sometimes. But worth it. 😉

  2. Anonymous permalink
    June 13, 2009 3:26 am

    True Flight
    Wow, Melissa, What a cool poem. So much imagery – you can almost see the egret in the total process of her flight!
    See You tomorrow – Love, Mom

    • June 13, 2009 3:29 pm

      Re: True Flight
      Thanks Mom! Wow-I didn’t know the imagery would give that much, but I am happy! Well, the process of her metaphorical flight, definitely–I was going for that. Glad it worked on whichever level. See you soon! Love.

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