On The Eve of My Son’s Early Onset Schizophrenia Exam
The plumage of my devotion unfurls
inside a canopy of tangled tree branches.
My ragged wings reach to hide the moss-
covered nest of my son’s shiny eccentricities.
My delicate spine curls to cover his disparate
offerings: scraps of tinfoil, gold nib of fountain pen,
and the shifting hues of a hummingbird feather.
He hears them, insistent shards of sound coming
closer, voices circling and lifting from roots below.
The funnel clouds of chatter rise. With your small
body tucked beneath mine, I take off, while I still
think we can outrun this, while my talons clutch
your soft belly so tight they draw blood.