Wings

Planes in the distance,

She waited to fly,

Spread her wings and go.

This would be:

Leaving days of pretense

Nights of mind travel

Ditching hunger for the other

And thirst for somewhere else.

This would be:

Watching her dreams uncork

In the horizon 

The horizon of desire

Willing herself to evaporate

Amid rows of dark heads

Making peace with 

Pitch black scars beyond repair

Beyond dilution. 

But there she sat:

Telling herself

Her bag of dreams was as real

As her sweaty palms

Measuring her growing doubt

Against a full beaker

Of hope. 

There she sat:

Waiting to fly

Like planes in the distance

Dotting an evening sky

Only not knowing

Her wings were 

Chopped.