Bloodied Feathers

by Mikayla Henry

I remember marshlands and reeds sinking beneath the weight
of us animals –
soiling my skin, the Earth herself swallowing me whole
while white feathers, pure as
sin lay against my breasts and embedded
within me.

The caress still softer than my husband’s
desperate grasping,
attempting to recreate the primal
tenderness to no avail.

Feathers become eggshells,
tearing me apart from within,
as new constellations, queens, lovers
spring forth from my womb –
unintentional monsters now set upon the world.

My blood upon its feathers
was a prophecy I failed to see.