Dream Catcher
Dream Catcher
You hang
crookedly
from the white plastic hook,
swaying slightly to the west.
Caught to catch.
Five cheaply dyed feathers splayed from winged birds
My dime-store exotic.
Amber, red and gold
Colors of fire, passionate sun.
Colors of purpose.
Dead birds now.
Was this their dream?
To hang near my window
Catching dust and kitchen bacon grease?
The vibrancy of temporary color disappearing
forgotten with age
You do have movement though,
those 2 inches back and forth.
Back and forth
Not much for flight
Not much for sight
Or dreams.
Your five cowry shells
Ransom
For all my desires.
What powers do you possess
In your woven macramé
to make this life
Something more
Than simply caught
or bought
or hung?
First published: Page & Spine
Copyright © Heather Browne | Year Posted 2014
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