I come from the Heavens,
For the face of the sky is scattered glowing freckles
that mirror the dark ones on my cheeks and this is why I think
I come from Hell.
The spots on my face are backwards stars,
Each one makes up a larger piece
of a dark black shard of ice I had to smash through
As I crawled up out of hell after it froze over.
I come from hope.
My imagination is to blame for my months spent as a child
Collecting every bird feather I could find
With the intention of sewing them into a pair of wings.
And I come from a hopeless faith because when I realized
That the human body was not meant to fly
I sent prayer after unanswered prayer up into the sky
To whatever God I didn’t believe in
Asking why exactly it was,
That my wings would not grow.
I am now as old as I have ever been
And have aged to know that it’s not the wings
composed of hand-me-down feathers I should be holding onto,
But rather the naivety that propelled me up
Instead of holding me captive.
I want to grab hold to the kind of spirit that doused me
In the belief that
I will be soaring.