when i was born,
i was given a cloak --
a cape --
knit of radiant feathers
and woven with cords of strongest silk....
at night
my mother wrapped me in this cape
like a blanket --
like the wing of an angel,
she said....
mornings, she folded it carefully away --
a secret protection....
as i grew
i told no one about
my special
feathered cape....
when i threw it around my shoulders,
i filled with clandestine joy....
on days when the
wind rode over the hills like wild horses,
i slipped out with my cape --
and ran to meet it....
running across the grassy fields,
the cape rippled and snapped
from my shoulders,
and i'm pretty sure --
on some level --
i flew....
climbing onto the lap of the earth --
warm round boulders
became the platform
for childish imagination....
but as life loomed and stretched
its looping fingers
around my throat....
and in the hustle
and rush
of saving and being saved --
i left it behind....
•••
the day i felt my daughter
prepare to make her appearance
on this earth,
i remembered that cape....
i imagined those mornings
and afternoons
enveloped in feathered radiance
laughing and leaping
from rocks too big....
and when i held her in my arms,
i saw that tucked in
with her blankets
lay a glowing cape
of her very own....
i wrapped her in it
that first night....
and thought no more of
my own....
•••
until one day she came to me
enrobed
all by herself --
resplendent....
dazzling....
piercing me with a glory of grief....
at that moment
i began the hunt --
to assemble the materials
to reknit my own....
and i did....
after many
many
years....
•••
i have it still....
i have danced with it
and traveled with it....
wrapped myself and
my loves in it....
i have been
to my mother's grave in it....
modeled it for my daughter
to remind her of hers
when she forgets....
and though i want desperately
to keep it --
to feel its soft airy feathers framing
my face and
throat forever....
i see that feather after feather
floats away
from grasping hands....
so i give it up....
the beauty and softness
the graceful blush of it
flow in a slow ebb
to the ones who come behind me....
i show them,
the little ones....
the young ones....
the ones who want to know....
how to weave the feathers
into their capes....
but i am not left empty-armed....
because though once i wept
at the loss of my pretty cape,
after all the hard work of
knitting it again....
i find that the silken cords
underneath
remain....
and those that do not wish
to know,
do not see --
that by moonlight and starlight
i glisten --
and dance
wrapped
in a golden web....
________________
© 2011
Beth Anne Boardman
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