Migizi gii waabmaa.

  

two clandestine eagles find you in the front of this line up signing things and pretending nice, wearing professionalism like it’s a halloween costume. the leading one drops in from behind you and the tip of her wing grazes the small of your back in an oval that’s method and rhythm like it’s all you’ll ever have and she is not going to waste one second of it. then the second one comes in on a sharper angle and tight circles your form starting at your roots, rising and then falling. her feathers are the wind on the hairs of your skin and she’s flying conical spirals up past your head and then down again brushing your heels, the backs of your knees, the cracks on your lips, all the while the first one’s wing is whispering to the skin of your lower back, while her beak is sucking the burning panic from the place you keep it hidden, behind the sorrow in your breast’s bone.