Tracey Emin’s Birds

Every bird she sees flying
reminds her she has wings too.
Birds with soft underbellies
bring her into their sphere,
edge her away from earth,
just so she can reach the sun.

Birds fill her dreams.
They ask to see her art.
She shows them a pack of cigarettes
her uncle was holding
when killed in a car crash.
They nod, tap approval with beaks on wood.

When she awakes,
she doesn't care
if the world misunderstands her.
Birds see things her way.
​
Sometimes on long walks
she'll watch for birds.
Under her gaze,
their wings beat a thousand times,
so fast they shift time,
show up as light.

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