Holly Day

I open my mouth and imagine birds are going to fly out

That inside me are flocks of birds that have struggled

With captivity for years. I will the birds to take form

Encourage them to force their way through my body, through my skin

Can almost feel their tiny claws struggling to find purchase

Along the slick, wet meat inside my chest.

 

Nothing comes out and I am empty, I don’t understand

I thought there was something better than me in here. The audience

Stares at me in impatient confusion from rows of folded metal chairs

They came here to see me do something special

They came to see something wonderful, or just something.

The bird song I thought I had dies in my throat, comes out finally

 

As only a croak, a whisper, a quiet and stuttering end.