Feathers stashed in the attic

I thought we were like the rest 

Men & women who fall in love 

Who beget little children

Go for holidays 

To beaches to pick seashells 

And postcards 

I thought I was reared in boxes and birthmarks

That grow eyesores and fit in with mediocrity that comforts

I had shared space with virgin births and messianic specials on TV

Packed and pierced to fit in with decorums 

Where God and blizzards existed.

Then you happened 

I saw your amazing limbs, of Apollo 

Like mist we floated over hills and grazed nights 

With nowhere to go but to my birthmarks and makeup 

You must have known dreams gallop and then betray one in the morning

You keep roaming the day with that one thought that refuses to surface.

I would see the lions eating up happy women and underwear

And the children are fragrances and remorse

The cat in my neighbourhood stalked the pretty pigeons 

and the feathers got stuck at times on those office-goers clothes.

The night on your side climbed and marched to my weapons 

and my faith would no longer pay heed to my ramblings

Since then we were not like the rest

I needed to wake up and nestle in my small girl syndrome 

To live in our big sprawling mansion 

With little alteration in the creases of the bodices and the attics

To witness the ordeals of promised and standing 

But you must visit our attic when you have days 

When life offers less 

There I left the table brimming with sentimental scraps and culture 

Stashed with the feathers that came floating by