Written by Melissa Lemay

 

Much has been written 

about why the caged bird

 

sings;

but poetry about the person

looking at the bird

in the cage

is much more obscure.

The

 

agony

 

of watching 

as a bird who can’t fly

further

than 40 square feet*

is restrained

from the wind,

the sea,

touch,

salt

of the earth—

they can’t kiss,

they can dance,

but only

in their cage—

from

the sun,

the grass

on the lawns,

and only

fed by hand

out of trays is

 

immense. It

 

encompasses

one’s being and

pulls your heart

 

on 

a string

right into that cage

with them—

that pathetic little bird,

whose sole purpose in life

was to fly,

eat insects,

perhaps pollinate

flowers

and

move seed.

 

And now—

 

they are imprisoned,

and they

 

didn’t 

even kill

any other birds.

 

*the minimum square footage required by statute in certain states for a prison cell

 

Text © Melissa Lemay

 

 

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