Poetry: In Quarantine
"As I sat on coarse gravel, a feather fell to my foot."
By Daniel Durand
As I sat on coarse gravel, a feather fell to my foot.
Its intricacy excited me
Its vane cascaded up to a delicate point
That caved to the breeze
I rushed to pick it up as gravel grains
Clung to my shoe
Before the bank collapsed in my absence
And the gravel spewed
Upon my return to the gravel bank
I observed the mess
Littered stones begged for my atone
The bank became undressed
I looked at my red indented hands
With a scorn and a hiss
A worn feather now mangled
Within my clenched fist
For what was it worth
To feel freedom’s sky
When the gravel below
Is where I lie?