Your hands smelled like coppery feathers
Which could not bend nor break
You were proud of your feathers
But then you could not fly
You went where your feet carried you
To mountain tops, forest edges, seashores
You walked miles
Looking up at the sky and cursing those who soared above you
And you longed to spread your wings and glide too
But your bones were not hollow
And your heart was not whole
And your feathers were made of copper.