Her mind was a junk drawer. She knew better, but things just piled up. Some useful, most not. It interfered as she would forget the littlest thing going from room to room. Circling, wearing a path in the floor – one might later see the tracks and mistake her for a captive animal. No bars or locks, just thoughts and fears.
But the birds … how they freed her mind from it’s trappings. She adored them; watched them through the pane (they came closer this way).
Her eyes seized each one like a prize. Over and over, she saw perfection in their small beaks and smooth feathers. Always a moment of magic – always just for her.
Childhood was similar. She recalls getting locked onto things for freedom; though never feeling free. Listening to cassettes on repeat, searching each song, longing; she found certainty in repetition and familiarity even at a young age.
Her head burned, begging for fresh air. So immobilized -limbs like chains. What is this?
She looked behind herself, “where are my wings?” Oooh, she remembered how she clipped them off in haste abandoning them somewhere along the way.
Excerpt How To Grow Wings: Awareness by Angella Meanix
