Eye of the Storm

by Tom Bajoras

I am still too heavy to fly—
Burn away the me and
anything else that holds me down.

I must learn to wait—
I won’t be ready until the fire
makes me clean, a white feather
rising on the tip of the flame
until a wind from heaven
catches me and lifts me,

a hostage, ransomed,
rising on wings not my own
through the eye of the storm,
into a place calmer than
any earthly calm.