Poetry & Prose

Becoming Wings

Will you pass me that pair of fairy wings? I do need them
for my nightly wandering; I was put in bed under the covers
while the television played between my grandfather’s snoring.
How could I shut down my ears, or trade them for more visuality.
Sleep now, I heard someone say, but my eyes were so energetic
they would not keep the curtains shut. I started wondering
while the conversations began to dim.

With my wings, I went far and far away.
The stars were put out, and the moon, drinking tea,
still could not keep her eyes bright and seen, while I,
virtuous and sweet, overheard the lullabying of the trees.
I traveled further and broader with dizzying illumination
and saw my father in the overly bright laboratory,
falling deeper and deeper asleep in his distorting arms.

His hair reflected a halo. He was a shadowless individual
about to become brittle under speculation of blinding lab lights.
I wanted to turn it all off, to leave peace and agog darkness
with my psychokinetic abilities. I remembered
that I didn’t have any, but only frowned and frowned,
and pierced my reddening eyes with the killer lights.
Grandpa was startled awake. Someone started yelling on the screen.