Fear the caging of birds. Strangled and brown.
Moving here was like crossing a river,
debriefings, scaling back. Clay pots clogged,
awkward like an ingrown hair, browning down
in the sun. Staring at walls draws a crowd,
like a hardened nipple, a tear-streaked thigh.
Fear the caging of birds. Strangled and brown.
Moving here was like crossing a river,
debriefings, scaling back. Clay pots clogged,
awkward like an ingrown hair, browning down
in the sun. Staring at walls draws a crowd,
like a hardened nipple, a tear-streaked thigh.
No more packing things in paper she says.
She throws screams while running and looking back.
Nothing will blossom in this heat, heavy
holding, hurry and hurt; all these h words,
but never heal. Never healing, at all.
Finding a spot to sit still, fill my cup
empty it out, pouring steam down drains—I
am the one left clawing at the cage door.
