He wraps a gauze cocoon round her toes
calves, knees, thighs, hips, belly, and breasts—
covering her upper lip, silencing her brittle tongue.
Next, a layer of ground parrot feathers
shed in captivity on the floor of the
the bird room in their pet-drenched home.
After feathers, bear hair—black moss
pulled from Montana’s tall knowing pines
round and wound with gauze
covering her rough trunk.
A few austere barnacles,
scraping her memory’s walls,
burnish a flinty blur.
She’s grateful for the softness of gauze
cocooning her chalky skin
with feathers and bear hair,
ameliorating her spirit,
arousing the ever-present potential of wings.
Brenda Warren 2012
Visit The Sunday Whirl.