WINGS

Born old and alone

Like a wizened gnome

Eyeing the terrain

Looking for the home

That takes me in 

Chucks me under my chin

Sit be listened to

Sit be included

Sit have a say

Sit you are home

And I spread the wings

Crippled at birth

For the dangerous road

The search for the mirth

History of art

History of begging

Self-harmed in a way

That embraces forgiving

Toothless old women 

taught me that living has

wings of its own

that I may be forgiven

for flying too high

for finding my feet

for once trying to die

I am old now and younger

Than I have ever been

A staircase descends

A staircase grows higher

Heaven or gutter

No matter how far

Like a wise man once said

I can still see the stars. 

David Hammons

Bag Lady In Flight

Shopping bags, grease and hair 1975