Sunrise breathes across the cup of the day,
And I bleed through her fingers,
Like a sky full of birds,
Wheeling and falling:
As a new constellation,
As an eagle.
This poem, amongst many others, was written a lifetime ago by my own angular, ill fitting 16 yr old self. Ha! She’d be so studiously indifferent, and so secretly overwhelmed, for her angsty poetry to be uncaged and free to flap their earnest way into the real world. I feel I owe it to her. One ‘like’ and she’ll probably burst into tears, but then she was always so over emotional….