The Curse of the Tiny Feather

Part of a Creative Writing Project: Letters to Geographer 2015-2016

Three sided rainbow prism that floats beside the Bay
Tell us the story of the feather
What does its mystery say?

A curse so black and devilish
There's no one who can escape
Not a soul named Mary or Michael
Will leave the same from this place

Who cursed who?
You might wonder, now...
The truth is far from simple at all

You see, this story started with a bike and bar festival,
A bearded musician, a mama, 
and twins fighting for survival

She followed his face, his feather and his voice
To the place where clowns rode around an obstacle course
Food trucks gathered all around the scene
A climbing wall for children,
coloring pages,
t-shirt makers and tambourines

Wheels arched over the entrance
to the lagoon designed by Frank Lloyd Wright
The weather was epic, 
the heat hot, 
the sun bright

Michael wore a tank top
Mary wore a guilty heart
He sang for his supper
She listened for a better life to start

In the dirt by a family food truck
She ordered Italian food for three
Pizza, Bruschetta, Pasta and Sicilian Arancini 
They had enough leftover to share with others in town
She heard his voice from a speaker
While they were siting down

Mary had to go and see him
His sound was calling her towards
the stage
Beside the racing cyclists
Where Cow bells were being waved

She took so many photos and posted them to Instagram
How would she ever know this day that she'd become one of his wildest fans

Michael was a singer from Hackensack
With only a guitar and the hair on his back
He started forming crowds in every small town
From San Francisco to New Jersey
His band would soon be highway bound

Mary gathered her sons together
Like a diligent Sheppard
At the end of the day
They were tired of grazing
And needed a manger for their heads to lay
Without screaming fans and cow bells playing

Mary got a glimpse of the spirit in black
His arms cradling the guitar
strapped around his neck
His voice was a spirit
calling her to fight,
hold up her head on this hot September night

Her boys were cranky, tired and complaining
The tent with organic energy bars
Wasn't doing a thing to stop their whining and waning

They had six miles to ride home on their bikes
And the sun was going down
Darkening the night

Mary was sorry to leave with
Michael's band on the stage
She felt a longing she'd never expected in middle age
Her heart suddenly open
Her eyes wider than stars in space
But this magic disappeared too quickly, 
as her wheels spun away from his grace

But Mary had seen the light
She'd heard his siren call
She knew he had a tiny feather
tattooed upon his left arm
She thought about him always
From that day and ever more
There never was a feather 
That Michael's sweet voice did not explore
Every time Mary saw a piece of wing  left upon the ground
She heard his voice and it flew her away
Her spirit was heaven bound

Sing on Michael, and your band
Sing of ghosts and lovers throughout the land
Carry us away tonight
Move us through the night
For every feather lost on earth
Is now a sign of your angel voice in flight
Every feather lost from a broken wing can be mended with your siren voice tonight

Mary flew home and nested her twins
A long flight ahead for her did begin
She shed the pounds of suffering
She lightened her load and turned a few handsprings

Michael journeyed away to the East
A new album made and records released
He didn't know Mary was following him
Learning to fly, trying to sing
Mary was shining in silver light
She couldn't get his silhouette out of her sight
She was lighter, more graceful and glowing with life
She migrated with the flock to keep Michael in her life

A year has passed, and Mary is alone
She rests her head on a mattress of foam
She sees her sons just once in a while
She can't find enough work to keep the glow in her smile
But when she walks in the woods
or on a crowded beach
A feeling comes over her
Her heart starts to see
A ragged shape in the sand or resting in the leaves

The tiny feather tattoo refrain, 
the curse of Michael's wing remains,
She'll never rest without his geography on her brain
She'll always imagine his open arms,
and his victorious voice taking away her deepest pain

Michael thinks of Mary too
He worries she might not find her way through
The world with out following his map
Trying to lay her kisses upon his lap

Who cursed who?
You might wonder, now...
The truth is far from simple at all
So remember this tale from which a feather always falls

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