A corner of your room’s lined with the stuffing of pillows,
pieces of speckled shell. I’ve seen you perch on the ledge,
half out, half in, not knowing whether you’ll jump or soar.
I think of those men who strapped on heavy plumage,
stood on cliffs and faced the breeze; those scientists
who studied the dinosaur of feathers. You’re still waiting
for your tiny wings to sprout, for your fall to earth
to be spectacular, your legs greeting the ground, travelling
up through your pelvis and into your guts. And I think
of Amelia Earhart, knowing just how much to believe
in herself. You sit in the cold air, a boy and the moon,
calling to your new friends, safe in their branches,
as you test your language, fashioning yourself on a finch.
Your eyes glitter; a dish of worms writhe at your side.
In the morning, I’ll unravel the strings of my kite.
Katrina Naomi 20 April 2012