(For T.S. Poetry’s February theme: Red. See the T.S. Poetry Facebook page for more contributions!)
Part of it simmers barely beneath
superficial, like a sunburn
just under the skin—
A spiritual neuralgia that
travels with time,
following the nerve paths,
Insisting on outlining the nervous
system’s most sensitive branches—
down the quadriceps or out to the
Niche where the wings would be—and a
prickly tingling signals the brain
to think of the dove that flies away.
I said, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest.”