I walked by a seemingly white feather
It was very small and had a fringe of downy afterfeather near its shaft,
And was just off the curb
Right by my feet.
I almost missed it.
It sat there quivering
Almost without detection
From the chilled morning breeze
Of summer’s end.
It looked so pristine and white
Against the drab oil-blemished greyscale pavement.
It made me feel lighter…
For a fleeting moment.
But then its surprising heaviness took hold of my attention.
Upon closer inspection
I saw that the feather wasn’t white after all;
The cement that held it to the ground with its force of non-negotiable gravity,
And the gravitas of its observer (myself),
Gave me the illusion of a white and light
The feather had dirt curling up and over the sides of its vane,
And when I bent down to bring myself ever closer
To the lost feather of angels or birds,
Or some cheap boa (for all I knew),
I could tell that each and every barb,
Along with its spine,
Was crooked and broken.
I know now
That every time hereafter in which I spy a lonely feather on the ground,
Separated from the body that once warmed it,
I will feel heavy
Rather than light…
Like I used to.
***And all I saw was a feather….***