literature

the feathers in your hands

Deviation Actions

Published: Sep 14, 2009

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Literature Text

_{we were windswept.

we watched processions from the riverside, laid on muddy banks, counted train tracks, buried our faces in our hands, we were warmed by red-hot coals and threadbare blankets.  I sat alone on the station and stuck my feet out as far as possible.

we sat alone on the station and picked the peeling paint from rusted benches and flung pigeon feathers at passing trains.  we flung feathers until they caught the wind and were snatched away and rode thermals like they used to, and they were windswept. and they were free.

we buried pigeons by the riverside, our hands caked in mud, our faces white.  I sat alone
on the banks and picked the peeling skin from my knees and watched it all float on the water, I stood in the rain and I caught the wind and was snatched away and rode thermals like I used to, and watched processions, lanterns pooling along the riverside like red-hot coals, funeral marches in threadbare blankets, soft stone and paint and mud splatters in the rain.

you were caked in mud, your face white.  you watched funeral processions on the riverside, you walked alone along train tracks and fell in the rain and the feathers in your hands felt like red-hot coals. I was a thermal, and you were windswept.}