Instead of Healing

New Wings

Broken wings.
When your wings were broken, I wept.
A heavy sorrow pressed me down.
No— it was deeper than sorrow.
It was grief.

Broken before they could even open.
Your wings were flawless and beautiful,
white and shining, full and strong.
They were a masterpiece.

When your wings were broken,
I opened the window.
I breathed in the wind
and I cried in pain.
Your silver medal shone and sparkled.
I was proud of you.

It was greater than any honour.
I called you “Champion.”
The printed words, fixed in place,
were pressed deep into my own heart.
What were my tears?

They were pain.
They were my longing
for what I could not give you.
They were my wound.
My pride—
thinking I could measure you—
was wrong.

You shone simply by being you.
But my eyes were a false scale,
tilting this way and that,
a dishonest measure.
I have thrown that cruel scale away.

I do not pray
for your broken wings.
Instead, I pray
for new wings—
wings I cannot yet understand.

Your new wings will be different.
No one will be able to break them.
When you open your eyes,
you will find
wings that are completely new,
wings unlike any before.

*these are my own paintings *