The Phoenix Rising

image by Mary McAvoy

The Phoenix Rising
by Mary McAvoy

Slush under my feet, sleet upon my head,
Market Street suspended in a golden snow bed.

I trudge along in the cold,
disconnected from the fold.

The past severed by a burned bridge,
the future beyond a wavering ridge.

Is what I feel inside me fear?
Or freedom, unrecognized though it’s clear?

Parochial Wizard tried to hold tight the rein,
while in the end, Free Spirit took the gain.

From your way you could not have turned,
my Gram would say, in the blood it’s burned.

It’s good to know where I stand,
I am, simply, at my own command.