Holy Flight

Holy flight requires holy wings: never mind
that mine are black, shining with green and blue gloss
in sunlight, lost supposedly on this night-black
feathered back of mine. I am the ancient scavenger,
the bird of foreboding tales: ales have been drunk

in remembrance of my supposed landing
upon the shoulders of warriors, that were standing
until the Morrígan washed their bloodied armor
in every shallow ford in every county
of Ulster. My descendants descend

from London’s stone tower every hour,
but return at eventide to roost, rest, and
watch the sun set from inside those royal
minarets. Let’s speak now of the east;
Mohammed believed that we

instructed Cain on the burying of his own
brother, and Indian girls from Kashmir
to Punjab to Andhra Pradesh lament their
lovely bangles being lifted away in our
loquacious beaks from their lanky wrists. And

across a blue ocean from the back of a red land,
its clay creation – the Haida nation – spin tales
of a white-winged trickster, his feathers trained
in how to be black by a firebrand’s burning: and
daylight was begotten by his stolen sun. And it is

in this very daylight that I take flight, a reverie
of wings and song born before your ancestors could walk
on two feet. I greet every morning as Raven, her arms
wide: do the starships of your stories boast of the same?
With this Holy Wind beneath me, I lift off: I…

Written 8/7/13
© 2013 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
How’s this for lift off? I wrote this for today’s Poetic Asides prompt. Robert Lee Brewer asked us to create a title, using “Holy (blank)”, putting whatever we want inside the “blank” — and then write a poem. This was my response.


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About ravenswingpoetry

I am a 38 year old writer from Columbus, OH and the creator of Raven's Wing Poetry. I am a poet, seeker, fellow traveler, and autistic.
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