beside Kate Walbert
What does the bird caged know of the sky?
I let the door open on its brass hinge.
It doesn’t un-grip its rigid claws from its swing,
the bird does not move nor blink its seed eyes.
No trick, it could have done it, many times.
I shake the cage hard and shake it again.
It just swings. I must turn the cage upside
down until it wings for balance. Imbecile.
It could have used its beak to lift the latch.
I pull it out; it bites my thumb, the skin
tight there, it hurt so much I fling it.
I would do anything to bring it back,
I’m not as happy as I imagined.
The door hanging without the latch that fit.