Longlist Saturdays: Feathers by Susan Richardson

Feathers

The week my mother died,

I found a feather resting

like a charred star

on the white shag rug in my bedroom.

I picked it up and stashed it away,

safe in a black lacquer box

that had once held her treasures.

On a stormy afternoon,

gloom entwining with fists of fog,

I escaped the rain

in an empty movie theatre,

discovered another feather.

It lay nestled on the seat beside me,

rich chocolate and amber

curled like the tail of a calico cat.

It reminded me of my mother’s hair,

the way it grew back

after chemo had stolen her soft blond tresses.

Months later, summer scorching the sky,

I unearthed a dazzling blue feather

in the pages of my most cherished book.

It lay across the words like a jewel,

iridescent, hopeful.

I remembered my mother’s eyes,

spilling over with joy

as she watched hummingbirds

pull nectar from honeysuckle flowers.

I kept every feather I found,

small patches of light piercing

through the grip of a tempest,

appearing in the most unlikely places.

I discovered them in empty waiting rooms,

on scuffed floors of noisy pizza parlours,

buried deep in coat pockets.

I believed each feather was a message,

my mother reaching out

from wherever people go when they die.

Susan Richardson is the author of, Things My Mother Left Behind, from Baxter House Editions, Tiger Lily an Ekphrastic Collaboration with artist Jane Cornwell, from JC Studio Press, and Smatterings of Cerulean, a collection of short poems accompanied by the photographs of Ken Whytock, from Dark Winter Press. Her poetry has appeared in The Storms, Crannog, Door is Ajar, California Quarterly, The Opiate Magazine, and Rust+Moth, among others.  She also writes the blog, Stories from the Edge of Blindness, and hosts the podcasts, A Thousand Shades of Green and Story Sessions.