Shot Down

A pigeon shot out of the sky, arrow penetrating
breast, plummeting to the ground, no wind to carry wings,
the thud, crack of body and bone to pavement.
Falling for you, hitting rock bottom in a head first
dive. I'm bleeding out for the world to see. Holding
on only to die another day, to fall for you again, and again.

I will heal, wear my scars on my sleeve. Let days,
weeks, a year pass before taking flight. Praying
for a breeze to catch my wings, give me life,
for the sails on my ship to inflate, a baby's first breath.
I'm hoping to float on waves that splish and splash,
to find treasure at sea.

Still the answer is no. The answer is always no.
I'm falling again. No, sinking, being dragged down
by murky waters that crash and crash. Fighting against
waves that push and pull, slipping into the darkness,
Davy Jones' locker. This time I won't get up, I refuse to
heal, to come up for air, to remove the arrow from my breast.