Larinae at the park

White wings of an angel, crimson red stains from your neck, pouring down like the child pouring orange juice dousing the last part of your dignity, in a feathered attempt at clawing back some respect. Life has more sanctity than a plastic bin bag, and I feel nothing but concern for those who continue to fly-tip.

Pain within the beaded pupil, staring through my soul and freezing my feet to the floor, as cold as the ice lolly I had naively tried to enjoy on my walk in this park. Hold up, I did not expect to see this pain. Held up, arms open ready to fly but as stuck as me in our own hells. The lifeless bird plagues me for weeks, cawing at my inner ear, I can’t get my fingers in deep enough to peck it out.

In every flapping wing I will hold your memory. The injustice and the pain you endured were not your fault and I refuse to remember you that way. I imagine you taking flight, in my daydreams, you are free amongst the clouds. I am unstuck with you and we are free falling forever.

2024