The Eagle with Blue Feathers
Kimmery Moss
He falls asleep connected to me His little lips on my chest Hours later he wakes again for more But I am no longer able Supplies are low, desires are low Mother is like an eagle who has been flying too long I must perch upon my own soul and rest I sing you to sleep this time You claw at me and I am wounded I read somewhere that OM calms babies It was the first sound of the universe anyhow How we know something that seems unknowable is irrelevant at four thirty four am I OM something like twenty seven times before I lay you back down My shoulder aches from my own doing My stomach growls even though I filled it just hours before My heart feels something akin to filling a bucket and simultaneously dumping it on frozen dirt I will still be myself on the other side of this though I will be different: The eagle with blue feathers Still circling the skies Eyes on predators, eyes on the next meal Only he does not want me in the skies He wants me beside him, he wants me in his mouth, he wants me forever The comfort is enough to burst my seams The love is what I dreamt of when I set about creation I would do it all exactly the way I did if the etch-a-sketch had been erased had I the need to reckon and reassess I'd retrace every last line with deft fingers I'd stretch myself again for my own flesh I'd feed every feed again, every time no matter the blur of the hour It's a wonder if we, mothers, ever feel whole again our DNA walking the earth outside ourselves not needing milk any longer needing their own sustenance now- the purpose driven gathering of information every experience sought for its own dopamine goldmine. Their own wings stretched wide Their own eyes keen for what they need It won't be mother soon. How do I ever look back without longing? It is true, it is Time The baby eagle has been sleeping for minutes already and I circle still, The skies are clear, but I circle still.
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