Not About A Bird

By: Lyda Martin









When I woke up in the morning

              you had escaped from your birdcage

              and left me behind.

I wanted to cut up my hands

              because they could not reach you.

              Because you did not need them. 



My darling thing, I loved you.

              The thin ring around your head

              -dark and sputtering-

I clasp around nothingness and imagine wings.

              You were my angel, you.

              My snow-flutter, my morning,

I mourn you. 

               As I lay in my heap of bones 

               I see you, ringed by the sun.


Art Piece by Anisa Lopez