Molting Bird
It must have been
a stormy night
when love flew out the window
of my vacant room
like a feather
from a molting bird.
Strange that I cannot remember
thunder or wind—
no howling or moaning,
no crashing at all
just the lightness of my plumage
and a silence
knowing a fine new feather
shall take its place.
© Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
first snow
flakes of a poem
fall on my page -
Shall we dip our brush
in the deep blue dusk
so we may paint joy
we stole from
the passing day
before it grows dark? -
all I hear is this song…
carried to my ears upon waves
as they ebb and return
a symphony of love
played on instruments
of the heart— -
sultry afternoon
in the vast cornfields
reaping gold -
I wait eagerly
for absolute darkness
to lose my shadow
Featured Books
MERRY BELLES: A Bluestocking Collection with Friends
Seven charming holiday stories from award-winning and best-selling authors.
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