She lays down softly a thing to call home.
From way back home hers is a restless wing.
A bird upon inflated love with heavy head…
Outweighs the tired feet of one who has no dance.
What she wants from you is nothing more.
And that is to say she wants nothing more…
Than what a child wants from a mother
Or a flower wants from the soil.
This thing laid so softly is wrapped up tight
The patterns are familiar and connected to the body.
There is support found in lifeless, tattered cloth.
She will mend it tomorrow.
Will you offer needle?
Will you offer thread?
Will you offer solace for that heavy head?
Will you offer music for those tired feet?
Will you offer air onto which her wings can beat?
1 comment:
I wish i had this print large for my wall at home :( it's so perfect.
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