Little Winged things - by Chidera Odom

Today is definitely a day for flying things. That's the only explanation as to why my street is littered with wings. Large and smooth, like from butterflies, Only I know these are no butterflies. They are vicious minstrels. Their big bodies hanging from thin layers of dry dust, Flapping and clapping to their own private song. They whiz past my drums in a blur The only sign of their departure is the sound of their waving wings as they bumble along. ...and there were dead wings all over, As far as the eyes could see, dancing in car headlights. A large pair sauntered over to me and settled on my neck. Like hates first kiss, with all its dirt and grime. Reflex had me jumping out of the daze and rolling downhill. There was no pretense. everything it came from and it's very guts made my throat boil. In sullen distaste, I ran all the way home and scrubbed my skin free of the gritty murk of insect dust. The thought of it kept me up most of the night. Inspecting every inch, every hour, was my mime. Although I kept to the time tellers chime, I fought to be rid of it with all my might. In my wary flight from the little creatures,I could not outrun their lingering, It was not the grime nor the niggling drip of their savage, but something else, A budding rhythm, a sense of fear, not my own, That crawled beneath my skin like scurrying ants. It whispered of woes from legions, Of drones and dragons – winged things too. Yes, I’d love to see me surrounded by nature. Layer by layer, as i see me mature. I commune with the ocean and even with the trees,Even in twilight, in the silence of the night, I see those reels.<img src="/media/inline_insight_image/LWT 1.jpeg"> I dreamt that night of little fluttering angels, Not just their wings, but their shadows too. They danced in my light, danced around my head,In waves of motion, they swooned and they swooped, All my little spaces were brushed by their wings They touched everywhere, buzzing, yet silent, Filling the air around them with eerie, yet peaceful sounds. Suddenly, the night was over, dawn came too soon, I stepped into the chaos of my world, but that too felt different Of course, I had been touched by the good winged people. The air was lighter and full of meaning, The trees greener, every leaf fluttering like the wings I tried to forget. As I stood taller, I began to wonder, Had I misunderstood them all this time? These sullen creatures of nude dust and quiet song Perhaps, not all of them kiss to burn. Mayhap, their grime must not always repel, but remind, Their nature is sometimes dredged, not always refined, Still, it is never empty of reason. <img src="/media/inline_insight_image/Last winged thing.jpeg" alt=""> So, I let my mind calm and gave controls to the wind, This time, when the wings came, I only beheld fragile beauty. Then I found my slice of peace. All this time, the truth was hidden beneath the dust. “Model Kind acceptance to find your wings, then fly”.

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