Moult

I am not new here.
I morphed with him, I grew:
changed colour, texture, size;
felt my spine elongate,
my many fingers bifurcate,
till I was fit to ride the skies.

No one sees me when he simply stands,
for I am cradled away against his bosom,
safe in the shadowy depths of his breast โ€“

but the scenes I’ve seen when he lets me out!
Looking down on the world:
what a view, what vision is mine.

Yet one day it happens.
He’s outgrown me and I must go.
It’s sad but not dramatic;
this is what he needs for new growth.
As he drifts over a mountain range,
my grip on him loosens, lessens,
and I leave the fold to drift down โ€“
an individual at last.
The wind against my face is fresh.
A curious creature watches from below.

As I land, they bend over and take hold.
Their twin orbs observe me.
This meditation will stretch my life out
longer than I could know.

Years after I have gathered dust on a windowsill,
I become the inspiration for a love poem.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Day 17’s prompt asked us to “write a poem that presents a scene from an unusual point of view”. My poem is from the point of view of a feather! ๐Ÿ™‚ We learned this Afrikaans poem in high school:

Die berggans het โ€˜n veer laat val
van die hoogste krans by Woeperdal
my hart staan tuit al meer en meer
ek stuur vir jou die berggansveer
mits dese wil ek vir jou sรช
hoe diep my liefde vir jou lรช

It’s one of my favourites! Basically, the author of the poem (Izak van der Merwe, whose penname was Boerneef) says he watched a mountain goose lose a feather from the highest crag of a mountain range; he fetched the feather and is sending it to the person he loves, as a symbol of how deep his love is for them โ€“ as deep as the distance the feather fell from the sky to the ground. The “speaker” in my poem is this specific feather.

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