Colleen

Down feathers are always with you now

Crowning your head

and slipping out your sleeves

When you think no one is looking.

You leave behind hollows

filled with the soft white things

And it is true,

I think,

that you are no longer quite one of those things that we call “human”.

Your heart has shifted

from something bloody and aortic

to a golden molten marble

and now when you walk-

you jingle.

Your wings you keep tucked away

folded in on themselves in preparation

For aviation and some great unknown

that is only hinted at on full moons.

A small child sees you.

She cannot help but mouth,

“An angel, an angel”

And you,

you only smile.

And the feathers pool

in footprints behind you.