Blessed Little Birds and Butterflies

Blessed Little Birds and Butterflies

She was a bright little bird,
her feathers vibrant,
her smile full of sweetness,
but she couldn’t be alone.

Clipped wings, she craved
flying til her heart burst
from the yearning,
her cry to Heaven
heard far too soon.

She flies free now,
her baby boy not knowing
where she’s gone
no way of understanding.
She flies free.

She could have been
my daughter,
my beautiful daughter
in the stone castle
where I cannot touch her,
but she lives and breathes.
She has been spared,
her long journey to wellness
being presented straight and true,
no detours now,
no time for crooked paths.

Blessed by angels,
she’s inside her cocoon,
she’s fashioning her butterfly wings
with gossamer and unbreakable thread,
woven of gold and prayer,
hard work and a lot of patience.

When we are given another chance,
we can always retreat into our cocoons,
fashion for ourselves
wings brand new,
we too are butterflies
and we too go through

Blessed Little birds
and butterflies.
These are the days
of change.

© Kamea Moonmaiden 08/07/16


She Carried Her Mother’s Secret

Helen pulled her sunbonnet snugly over her head as she walked through town, being careful to look down, hoping nobody would look closely at her tan skin as people scurried back and forth tending to their affairs.

The midday sun beat down on her and sweat began to trickle down her sides and under her full breasts. Her corset was so tight it was hard to breath, and the weight of her petticoats made walking quite a chore, but she was used to it.

She darted a furtive glance across the street, where all the people of color walked. She wondered if her grandmother might be amongst them, for her father never allowed any communication with her, so she had to content herself with the stories her mother told her.

She carried a package for her grandmother her mother had given her to take to the post  office. Father was a circuit rider, off on a mission for the last two months, and could be home any time now.

Mother was at home with her younger brother and sisters, all working in the garden today. Harvest time was just around the corner, watermelons plump and juicy hanging from their vines next to the squash, the rows of green beans and Indian corn.

Mother never ventured into town if she could help it, especially now that Helen was old enough to take care of the errands. For Mother’s skin was a shade darker and the risk of being discovered much greater.

Her grandmother had been a slave but was now free and living with her husband. The Emancipation Proclamation had granted them their freedom papers not long before Father met Mother and asked for her hand in marriage.

To Be Continued . . .