Home Burial Wife Unburied

I appretiate my oppression
because how my wings feel
unfolding
you will never know,
born free.

Where guilt tags you
for having fanned faces
that were neither sick nor weak
with the same wings
you used to fly off and overhead,
I am light as a feather
and owe no one penance.

These times beg you
to kneel down,
to hold the hand
you would have used
to cup a cheek
in honestly tender condecesion
still by your side;
after the storm of power
it is time to be humbled.
But I,
I am made
a beautiful example
for my natural inclination
to stand up.