Earrings

Her earrings catch the sun like whispers,  

pinnate patterns etched with precision's grace,  

so fragile they might lift into flight,  

tiny feathers carved in metallic resolve.  

She presses her fingers to their edges,  

as if anchoring them to her pulse,  

as if afraid they might know freedom  

before she is ready to let them go.  

I wonder who gave them to her,  

who noticed she wears the air differently,  

gliding between moments, lighthearted yet grounded,  

her laughter an updraft that softens the sky.  

These earrings are not just ornaments;  

they’re prayers held silent in each groove,  

the blueprint of movement, of resilience,  

a map etched for a soul to follow.  

Perhaps they remind her of someone

their voice rustling like leaves in her memory,  

soft echoes of a presence too fleeting,  

a feather brushing the fragile surface of goodbye.