Poems & Musings,  Writing

The Songbird

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

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