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Image for the poem Ghigau

Ghigau

 
She was roadside, slated for trash,
broken bits scattered about her back.
Her hands were bound and she had  
surrendered to dirt, given up on life,
was rain slaked under the downpour  
dreaming of deep oceans and castles far  
from the stairway to heavenís door.  
 
I drove past first, slightly glanced;
but, the storm moved a wayward
feather against the windshield  
of my heart at just the right moment,
destiny through an understood bond.  
I stopped, reversed and parked,  
surveyed her predicament;  
wondered how I was going  
to lift her by myself; I did, all 4'
of her heaved across the back seat,
gathered the pieces and took  
them all home with me.  
 
Wrangled her through the kitchen door;
we were both tired, aged, covered  
in mud and drenched, knew what  
it felt like on the side of the road
with no hope left, so I went to work.  
I cleaned myself up first, then her,
carefully, as though she were alive
and could feel every wipe of caked
mud and dirt from her broken skin.
 
I meticulously glued her wing,
holding it in place for hours at times.
There were missing feathers, though
I somehow felt didnít matter to her.
I unbound her hands, her palms
remained in perpetual prayer.  
I took metallic paint and traced
her scars into streets of gold
across her stained plumage.  
Through near-death experience  
she had become more beautiful.  
 
This morning I placed her in sunlight;
she emanated a warmth that anointed
the room with a divine scent of oil  
and marble Iíd never before inhaled.  
I was to call her Ghigau, ĎBelovedí
as a reminder of my own native  
origin as both lover and warrior.  
 
When the trash truck passed, metal
mouth compressing its breakfast,
I felt her rejoice, and me with her.  
Because all creation has an essence
emitting a vibration of kindness and
healing through a simple acceptance
of each other's broken differences.  
~
Ahavati
Written by Ahavati
Published
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