My totem is a silver skull, my spirit animal a murder of 13 crows (that enjoys playing jokes on storks and stealing shiny booty from magpies).
Black wings and shifty eyes delivered me (blood-clad and screaming) into my grandmother’s waiting hands. At nine-years-ancient, I knew my story to be uncanny… away from the sort of normal that feeds the world its myths and all the other perfect kids. “The storks didn’t fight back?”
The rumble in my grandmother’s laughter named her sister to thunder. Before she spoke, her smile flashed lightning. “Storks fear babies with teeth in the same way the idiotic fear women with brains.
When the world questions
your love for bones and feathers,
my girl, trust your strange—
celebrate your weird and wild,
feed on thunder and lightning.”
– for Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Celebration.