Poem 4: An Enigma Wrapped in a Mystery ... or Whatever

Today's Napowrimo prompt is kind of involved. Here it is: "One of the most popular British works of classical music is Edward Elgar’s Enigma Variations. The “enigma” of the title is widely believed to be a hidden melody that is not actually played, but which is tucked somehow into the composition through counterpoint. Today I’d like you to take some inspiration from Elgar and write a poem with a secret – in other words, a poem with a word or idea or line that it isn’t expressing directly. The poem should function as a sort of riddle, but not necessarily a riddle of the “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” variety. You could choose a word, for example, “yellow,” and make everything in the poem something yellow, but never actually allude to their color. Or perhaps you could closely describe a famous physical location or person without ever mentioning what or who it actually is."

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Feathers

Sassy, direct, she speaks
from the core of her indignation
(not indignity, never indignity)

at the way the world
revolves around injustice,
cruelty, indifference.

I met her in Arizona:
she traveled 2500 miles
to meet me,

bringing her hopes and dreams,
her love of art and poetry, her husband,
a bag of backstories

I hoped one day to share.
"Are you gay?" she asked her son,
once.

Sometimes our dreams choke us.
Sometimes our dreams rise up
like desert mirages, oases

for those dying of thirst.
Hope is feathered.
It migrates south into clouds

until spring.
Inspiration sounds like
respiration.

This year, she snapped
a few ribs.
Stories of the future

made it hard for her to breathe
through the pain.
I love her like a mother -- she is

my other mother.
Trees communicate through their roots,
create for each other

oxygen and food.
April rain beads their
cold branches:

I love you. 
I love you.
I love you.