We found our songbird dead in the kitchen,
His body cold on the cage floor
Next to the counter where my husband
Caressed the lines of my throat with his tongue the night before.
I sat at the window overlooking the street and watched not much at all
The red flowers clustered inside the windowsill box
The sky a vast blue froth with clouds that my little bird
Saw from his perch, but never touched
Maybe that was why.
My husband wanted to get another and seemed surprised
When I, crying, threw the cage in the trash.
– Sara Myriad