Look mom a feather!
And another one!
There are so many
Can we collect some?
Can we gather a few?
Yes you may
Collect a few
Gather some
Feathers so soft and fine
Speaking of creation
And the world we have been
Born into
Time for home
These feathers
Are filling the car
On the seats and the dashboard
Flying out the window
And all around
Unlock the door
Phone rings! Landline!
Run for the hand piece
I’ll get it! Will be for me!
Hi Vonita, how are you?
How is Australia? How is Sydney?
I’ve been thinking about your mom
And have a message for you!
If I mention the word ‘Feathers’
Would it have any meaning to you?
At all?
Just a few questions to ask of you. How can you say, ‘It’s good to see you are smiling again’? When it was you who took the smile away. How can you say – ‘Glad to hear you are good’? When you didn’t care when I said I wasn’t.
How can anyone ever believe anything you say? It is all a facade. I can see through you, and I always did. I always will. My heart was too soft. It is too soft now. But I can touch it. And nurture it with my soft hands.
Being moved by music throughout my life, different songs and tunes evoke different memories and thoughts and feelings in my mind. There are so many favourites that would come to mind, so I decided to think back on the first song I could ever remember. And there is only one – it would have to be “Don’t cry for me Argentina”, the original version by Julie Covington. Born in the seventies, I was but a little lass when I would stand in the privacy of my bedroom and sing to these beautiful lyrics. I would imagine myself as an adult, being able to sing and perform, and imagining my voice as crystal clear as the singer of this song.
Listening again to the words and voice, I am transported from where I now find myself – a wife and mother, to that place of being a child. Dependent and loved, with all the innocence of childhood and youth. And there is a small part of me that would hold on to that. As living beings, we will grow and mature and age, but there will always be some remnants of the child within us. That small secret part that needs to be loved, and cherished, and carries the hope of life – before the realities of survival appear. The innocence of a young child. May life never deal with us in such a manner that we would have that soul piece taken and destroyed from us, but may we always manage to find a place of hope and wonder within.
Poems and Petals 