* * *
My steps were still in Pangea,
Prints of knuckle and knee
But I dreamt of flight
As you flapped from branch to branch.
When sand grains caked my ankles
Wading across desert seas
Solar wind pushing my wrinkled sails,
I looked up again, and followed your flight.
It was your song that taught me day and night,
Your beak, the fruit of my life,
Your droppings, to plant my roots into cities
Your feathers, to shoulder my shivers.
My skin twitched and twisted into shapes.
Its features swam in different directions.
When the monsoon flushed my sons onto their paths,
You soared above to teach me the stars.
When ice crested the air,
You flew towards the sun,
I worshipped your lessons at the magnetic pole,
My skin bleached from the withering cold.
I have tried to follow you into the air,
But choked you on my clumsy shadow,
—broke your wings with my heavy feet,
—drowned your song with my cry.
So I again crouch; my knees and knuckles
depressing my foundry of fiction,
—that I too could be a god who soars;
Who sings life into the air and earth.
I beg you to teach me the lessons
I grew too blinded by the stars to see,
Dislocating my ears and arms to grow wings
But becoming a dragon instead.
Benefactors of the air and sky!
Of song, of magnetic poles and seas.
I will pay benedictions to your creed,
With forests, air, and my devotion.
* * *
Gregory grew up in Guyana and immigrated to the United States after high school. He holds masters degrees in Neuroscience and Psychology. His writing covers topics of identity and wellbeing.
As a child he read many nature magazines, spent quiet hours in his mother’s garden observing the insects and plants. He has rediscovered a need for plants in his life, and is a strong supporter of embracing the natural world to heal from psychological alienation and mental health stress. Gregory spends his free time writing poetry, working on his book ideas, and thinking about how he can fit into society, while being aware of it.