Fledge to flight

Staccato rapid-fire letters dance to the page as a maestro. Tympanic rhythm translating thought to the page with murky midnight copies smudged below carbon leaves.

That summer, my fingers flew like youthful ambitions dew. A fluid like affair, a lovers embrace and the traces left behind, my red lipstick on bedlinen.

1956 running copies, proofreading under the baton of that bastard I called a boss. And like my virtue he stole from me a child to create his prodigy. Newsworthy, adept and eager to please.

Awkward at first, my birth in the newsroom bore articles for the most noted daily in the world.

Amongst spread legged braggadocio, a naïve girl fleshed out the events of the day. Breaking barriers, finding time...the deadline amid moments where my flesh became numb; but my mind prospered to do the bidding of the bourbon breathed lord.

In recollection those fledgling flights came without delight. Days became night. Blurred underground rides to and fro the big city. Ripped stockings to Brooklyn's' scant sleep, sirens, and nose dust to keep me to the task...was I to last?

And now I see my reflection; elderly, pen in hand to add a submission to the bland, mundane. The end draws near, no fear. All remains is the rich embroidery. Time enfolds in the recess of a mind and memory to the beat of yesteryear.

Saffron leaves and tomes line dusty shelves. A sarcophagus entombed legacy. Tea stained narratives the day-to-day. The fledgling bird no longer lumbers, the soaring bird is unencumbered. The flight I fly now in the cloud stores the words I write before my shroud.

Present day resembles yesterday. Front page articles bearing a striking similarity. Humanity with all the hopes I had. The circle closes line by line, nothing changed except the date and time.