the pillow with too many feathers
buoyantly bulged on his bed
as his head lay
unable to settle
or rest.
we unzipped it open,
it sat there naked and ashamed,
like opening a cloud.
dreams falling out,
revealing white feathery organs
that were once held in place
waiting to fly,
we stuffed its wings into a bag.
scooping them in our hands
we let the casing adjust its shape
does it fit your head now?
is it cradled softly?
or do the feathers consume you,
like the way your hands were inside
searching for room.
pushing in with your knuckles
and then up to your elbows
arms deep;
a satin nightmare pulled apart.
grabbing feebly
trying to find
pieces
to take away.
the feathers blew
from your hands
and tumbled
into the bottom of the trash bag
i held taut,
catching the softness
plucked away…
packaged into something
disposable.
they felt the insides of a new casing,
plastic replacing cotton.
a new, far less gentle, form.
softness not meant to be held;
feathers meant to be pressed softly,
not pushed away.
they flew to the ground
where they tumbled and drifted
away.