We cannot eat this bread.
A shadow reached all the way around
as a life tilted away like a
country road headed north.
We sometimes forget
just how to move air in and out —
There are no easy breaths here.
We search for life, and find
We seek reasons, but find
but “broken,” “mystery,” “gone,” “sorry.”
Starved, we long for light, but find
the black wings of a darkness too vast
to walk through. Meanwhile
I will cry, then
I will bake a new kind of bread to awaken
a different kind of morning.
J. Pratt-Walter, (c) 8/2017
2 thoughts on “Black Wings”
That opening line is such a strong hook into a great poem.
Thank you, Kaili. A dear friend perished in a house fire this spring.