Shannon Stephens
wax and feathers
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My father burned the midnight oil,
gluing together wax and feathers.
When he was through, I looked like Gabrielâ
a little tattered, a little weathered.
It wasnât the sun that melted my wings,
so close I could hear the angels sing.
The injustice of disbelief
dropped me from the heavensâ canopy.
Thrown to the sky like a stone from a sling,
dropped like lead to the arms of the sea.
I rest my head on the ocean floor.
You walk above me.
It wasnât the sun that melted my wings,
so close I could hear the angels sing.
The misfortune of disbelief
dropped me from the heavensâ canopy.