Birdie

Every day — 

Monday through Thursday, 

starting at 2:30 pm, 

I grew wings. 

Peaking when reaching for the birdie. 

Gusts of wind and floods were my fuel to hit the

flocks away from my court.

I was terrible at it — 

I was the one corresponding plans to bring the range to 

the next arena (14-18).

The first time I defended the court without fail it was 4:16 pm

and I was losing my feathers with ever-growing failure to clasp onto what kept me afloat.

So I drowned.

I fell from grace into the mountain,

diving too deep to hear.

I only saw the light while

craning my neck for the next swoop.

Third division,

third place at flying with wings that couldn't hold the silver limbs anymore.

Third place at something I dived into after I stopped flying.