His father speaks to him in feathers

He says his father speaks in feathers;
a calligraphy all quill and no ink,
a scripted spiral through air
and into hands held open.

I am more basic.

My father does not haunt, but waits
at the edge of sleep,
where dreamed things go
not quite memory,
but unreachable;

his words not saved in a pocket
or balanced on a windowsill

but gone when morning comes.

About Susan L Daniels

I am a firm believer that politics are personal, that faith is expressed through action, and that life is something that must be loved and lived authentically--or why bother with any of it?
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12 Responses to His father speaks to him in feathers

  1. Great one, Susan. I can relare ro what you write about.

    words that skip gaily on our tympanic membranes
    as we sleep and smile and reach out to hug them
    floating fleeting messages in rich cursive, dense in
    meanings our aroused brains
    cannot recall on rising – words that slip thru
    the tightest fishing nets of recall,

  2. Alice Keys says:

    Seeing your poem in my in-box today gave my heart a lift. I think of you often. I’m glad to see your work again.

    You captured my experience of dream-land poetry perfectly. Have you been spying on my sleep again? 😉

    I hope you’re seeing more clearly now.

  3. Polly says:

    Good to see a poem from you, Susan. And what a poem, that first line is a killer. 🙂

  4. Trent Lewin says:

    Peace, Daniels. Keep writing for us.

  5. Words go and
    words come back
    like half re-
    membered dreams
    they will come
    back only
    when they are
    ready to.

    So good to see yours–

  6. Hi Susan. Not sure what the first verse is about, but poetically mysterious it sets the scene. The rest is all too clear, and beautiful for it. Thanks, once again.

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