Man made light work of our removal.
Now he unearths us, pulling away
our ancient blanket with talon-like tools.
Years he spent erasing our name.
Hunting for pleasure, denying
our place on their plate-
our “tough as leather”
flesh flung to the drooling,
snap-jaw of their dogs.
Now they marvel us in museums.
Bringing their young to study
the redundancy of our wings-
A joke-gift from God, who during
His arduous task of creation
Decided to let off some steam-
Setting us on an island
where shadows were not to feared
and where death came natural
not a teeth torn, feather shredded
skin sliced annihilation, so when
man clambered from boats
kissing the sand, we waddled
from the shrubbery, squawking
our hello's. Man responded
with chase and spear. It was
then we flapped our frantic wing
but found not height but laughter.
Here is not home. I have watched
the moon curdle in the frozen glare
of my brothers, have heard
children laugh at our crushed thumb
Beaks. But I maintain composure,
for in my deep-soil sleep
I have heard the whispering of rebellion
from the unsettled assembly of core
Which is soon to begin the great inhale.
Writing and Random Creativity Workshops 
