She stood in the warmth,
Light filtering in comfort,
Surrounding her.
The slightness of the delicate bird,
Yellow-feathered,
Gently held in her palm.
She feels protective,
Covering the bird,
With her ever tender breath,
An expression towards its majesty.
She holds the bird,
As she holds her anger:
Of dismission to her thought,
Neglect to her hearts’ inspiratus*,
And for consideration to the skin
peeking
On her shoulder to the mirror held before her.
She holds the bird,
As she holds her silence,
And her lips,
At the tray that is passed that she cannot offer,
And to their consumption,
Of her
For their need and their fulfillment.
She holds her silence to being seen as
Small and partial,
And kindly asked to “obey” and re-pray.
She holds the bird,
As she holds to her neglect,
That rests in her stomach with unease,
Set to thoughtless words,
Before the absent Protector
And fading,
Fleeting,
Shadow of Divine Her.
She holds to her neglect,
Before the outreached hand,
As she grips the church pew,
To steady,
……….Steady,
…………….Steady,
The breath that has been lost.
And yet,
Then found.
For the tiny,
yellow-feathered,
beloved bird,
As she holds it to
belonging,
In her care.
As she breathes over its wings,
With majesty and wonderment.
She feels the wind from its flutter wings,
Return,
And move over her,
As breath,
covering and calling Her,
Majestic.
by Lacey Williams
*It comes from the Latin inspiratus (the past participle of inspirare, “to breathe into, inspire”) and in English has had the meaning “the drawing of air into the lungs” since the middle of the 16th century.
