Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Air (appeared in East Coast Ink Issue 004: Bridges, 2014)

Brought here by the winds, blown from east to west, I traveled over the waters, the ocean blurring underneath me as I speared through the air, head first, pointing at the most farther land. I knew not, I felt not, I consumed the many miles almost blindly; a young woman of a fuzzy mind, of an almost crushed spirit. Caged as I was. A frail and frightened creature, really. And caged and airless, in this new land, I remained. Year, and another year. And hope was much like a broken television; turned on, the black screen fails to produce an image. Of any clarity. Peering into the dim monitor, year and another year, I remained here. Where my wings gained strength, by and by, until they grew large enough to break through the bars. And I tiptoed into new air. Crisp air. Open air. I began breathing; small swigs at first, deeper gulps at last. In this new land. In this new air.


  1. But why would she remain, caged and airless as she is, year and another year, in a land which is forever new to her? (No answer is expected.)

  2. Perhaps it was the only place that could have enabled her to safely grow wings.