Today's poem is by Hollie Dugas

When Girls Become Birds
       

It begins with the nature of
my full nude body ordained
art, painted awkwardly within
the cathedrals of fragile eggs,
the bitter taste of insects
budding in my throat,
and the dream of gaining
wind—to, one day, waking
with thick plumage vital
for flight. I am nobody
if not a good little dodger.
Look, here comes another
man on a motorcycle.
I do not flinch at death and
blood and splattering
my chest on glass anymore.
This world is nothing
to quail about. I've preened
the hefty specks of damsel
stuck to my velvet wings and
let them fall like small creepy
mites from my feathers
to dirt. I am no longer
mistaken as a dainty
hourglass-shadow shifting
under clouds. I'm learning
the sweet tuneful language
of my kind, renouncing
all of life can be held
in a tiny straw basket. Agile
and untamed, life is a ballad
of color, blooming
within me like wildflowers.
I've taken to the tops
of buildings like a holy beast,
the gift of starlight nesting
in my softened bones.

Tweet
Copyright © 2023 Hollie Dugas All rights reserved
from The Louisville Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission