Sprouting from sturdy shoulder blades
my arms branch out into huge angel-wings.
One wing is bridal-veil white,
its feathers dotted with tiny pearls
quietly pouring sweet breast milk
into the expectant mouths of babes.
The other wing is black crepe
loudly fluttering in the howling wind,
bone shafts filled with tears,
spilling over from suffering and loss.
Now both wings flap vehemently
like kites about to soar,
and I feel like a great blue heron on spindly legs,
gracefully unfurling heavy plumage,
then lifting off,
trying my best to keep my angel-wings in balance.