My intersection partner this week is the exceptional
marlawentmad. Please read her
wondrous entry first!
Young one,
they cast eyes
weighted with tackle
and hooks
upon you,
that they might lure
and catch you
with their lines.
They fed you
that story
of Icarus,
and oh,
did it sink you-
“Don’t fly
too close
to the sun,”
came their bait,
heavy
and gaudily clothed
in transparent threat.
But he wasn’t a boy, child-
he was a bird.
A brave bird
kept in a cage
to stunt his wings.
And that’s how they see you
as their globe eyes-
all white and red,
all wrath and dread-
bug out:
bobbing up and down
to try and know your scope.
They don’t know, baby.
Do you?
Let me tell you your story-
I heard
a beat
when my sole
touched the vanishing point
of the horizon,
and I turned the world around
to hear it again.
I felt
a pulse
when my hips
rolled the breaking point
of the tides,
and I span the oceans around
to feel it again.
I swayed
to the claps
of thunder
as my gems
resounded
in cascading
crescendos
of bell tones
hurtling down
from the mountain tops.
And all this song,
all this music,
was my lullabye to you,
my little river
spinning around in my cave,
waiting to dance beside me.
You aren’t the fish, child.
You aren’t the bird.
You are
the almighty flow,
the sacred river
that bends for no man.
So:
run.