Nico Santana
A Feather Caught in a Fan
In an instant, the whole church
fills with the sound of something
dead dying once more—and
even the priest ceases to compose
heaven, just to listen to quill and
vane snap under spinning blades.
Eventually, there is no more bird
left to batter, and the priest can
laugh, continue his homily about
the song that follows death and
the ways in which we learn its
lyrics. Amen, he says; Amen,
we respond, choir-like, and
now for the next measure—
But the feather lingers in the air.
Made into dust. Made into mess of
mistunes. How easily it could
have slipped through the grille and
crumpled like a lung; how painless
it should have been to clatter
ghost-like against the metal bars.
Instead, it threw its voice to
the rushing wind and we were
witness, and we are pen put to
score, and we will be proof of
a note briefer than a single breath.
May I, too, forgo melody, if
only to be heard. May I, too,
depart with so little grace,
that I leave every head in
the congregation turned.
About the Author
Nico Santana is a Management Engineering major from the Philippines who much prefers writing and reading to anything even remotely management-related. His poetry has been published in TLDTD, as well as in several video game-centric fanzines.