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Wings

By Jen Zeni

I hold the brush

Gently between my index

And my middle finder

Gliding it over the lines

Smudging it

Spreading the color

Thinking of wings

Light

Floating

Music

Hope

It's feathery

White

But you can't paint white

You can't put the hope down

Give it substance

Because it is so insubstantial

And so much of you says it can't be true

You've been through this before

You know it can't be

But yet the wings are still there

The angels

Fallen

Used wings

Recycled hopes

And every time they are false

Why are you so sure this time will be different?

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