mountain roots


oh, spring by Danielle Nelson
Via Flickr:
Image made with my Hasselblad 500 C/M.

those meadows
that bloomed after
the death, when I
thought the world
had ended

unbecoming, the
aspen’s half lilted shade

shame interrogated the roots
of mountain woodland, the wild
grasses, the golden glow of
sappho sun

the meadow rust with both
bones old and young

time distorted itself
and I became, you say,
this non-person

Here are feathers the color of smoke, of flame.  Here are feathers the color of light on still water, feathers the color of milk.  Here are feathers green as ferns, blue as forget-me-nots, red as thorns.  Here are feathers brave and blue as a noonday shadow.  Feathers as black as the darkness behind eyes that have not yet opened.  Feathers crawling with ember-glow, starred with frost.  Striped and spotted, spangled, sparkling, glittering, glowing, burning and tattering like leaves in a fire, feathers shining like the sun.

I have twine here made from the sinews of comets, the wool of the shearling moon, from down drawn off the belly of the sky itself.

I have glue rendered from the roots of mountains and the hides of old wives’ tales, and a brush made from the tail of a leap year.

Take what you need, make yourself wings.