Poem by Jill Cloutier

My neighbor thinks that she owns a bird

says she owns him

That his beating heart and trembling body

belong to her.

I’ve seen his soul leave,

his excitement grow,

when birds who fly

wait outside the cage

to speak gentle bird wildness with him.

The metal nest is hers,

the plastic perch

the food from a box

he doesn’t have to look for or find.

It’s always there,

the small round dish

the saucer of water.

In the mirror on the side

he can see how proud he is

for company.

He sits, mostly singing

loudly, just before the sun slips forward and back.

Greets the light and dark equally

with delicate bits of song

which sound like lace

and how the purest heart would sing.

And once,

during a graceful pause

his voice filled the air

calling the sun to appear.

Reminding me

that it takes immeasurable moments

of sunrises and falls

to create wisdom.

To accept closed doors

and still,

to sing.

by Jill Cloutier