Reflection

by Shanley McMillan

I will myself to be the bird
that finds you swimming naked
in the quiet pool of memory.
You are, as I,
willing yourself
clean of all that clips you.
Winged things, we are.
Are we birds?
Or another creature altogether?
Wingless but still caught up in the flight.
What shadows
do we cast upon our bath?
Ours is the reflection
of two feathered bodies
forming an unformable thing.
I will myself to be the fish
that flutters its fins in the pond,
watching you fly overhead,
wingspread in the quiet pond
of an evolving memory.
What an unclipped creature You are
—not bird, nor man
but something in between. 

***

Shanley McMillan is an essayist and poet. Born in the mountains of North Carolina, Shanley moved to Scotland in 2015 and is currently based in London with her husband, who is a photographer. Her writings have been featured in DURA, Sentinel Literary Quarterly, SaveAs International Poetry, Oxford Review of Books, Be Still Media and The Courier. More writings are readable on Crank, eris & eros, The Napkin Poetry Review, and Passenger’s Journal.