Cardinals
When I was a child I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, and the cardinal was a man. I had only to glance at the vibrant red feathers to see a wise teacher, the mouthpiece of God, emanating indulgence from the sleeves of his vestment as the birdsong absolved my sins.
Then I became a man, and saw through a glass darkly. The bird swallows a worm for lunch, coughing up a gardener’s boot once worn by its prey. One less left to plough the soil of my beloved green friends. Birds cannot forgive sins, they only know to kill and eat.
Then I became a woman, and the glass shattered as I sang. Staining it with the blood of my tears I created a monument - ephemeral, yes, but beautiful - just for a moment - as the cardinal carved the air above with its wings, before the tower of glass falls to pieces at the lightest touch. Each collapse forms new pieces and I build it anew, until the crystalline collage is framed with green tendrils. The cardinal does not wear robes; it wears the carotenoids of the fruit we share for lunch; its song does not forgive my sins because there are no sins to forgive.
The glass is my mosaic. The cardinal cannot be reduced to a man.
Comment section:
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1t8bmtk/comment/oky2rab/?context=3
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1t5jsc3/comment/oky1vrr/?context=3