We watch grounded, heavy humans fly in metal coffins. You’ll never know the rush of air separating and thinning over curved upper-wings, and skimming under flat-planed under-wings, pushing our bodies high. We are music, song, infinite colour. We are feathers, predators, prey. We are air creatures. Our telescopic eyes ignore your feather-less lives, but some of us devour decaying flesh. Our Peregrine Falcons dive like stealth-jets, beaks severing necks in mid-air: but you could eliminate us all.
About the Author
Jenny lives in Liverpool. Since retiring from work in mental health services, her poems have been published in online and print magazines, and in anthologies. She has poems forthcoming in Prole, Orbis and The Dawntreader. Her debut pamphlet will be published by Yaffle Press in 2021.
