You Were Meant to Fly
You open the kitchen door, Mother,
and slip into the woods
There is no trail to follow,
but you do not worry;
swarms of stars
wait to greet you
and show you the way.
You leave your valuables behind;
masked strangers can have them,
and you will not moan over your losses.
You know you’ll get what you need for
your journey at just the right time.
You were meant to fly—
the stars will deal gently with you.
Posted on May 13, 2018, in poetry, Poetry Pantry, Poets United, Sunday's Whirligig and tagged deal, fly, get, masked, moan, need, open, stolen, swarms, valuables, woods, worry. Bookmark the permalink. 15 Comments.