She moves close to the edge of the nest
cocks her head sideways
Looks down wobbling, stretches and
leaps off into space
But her wings are overburdened with bombs
She gets up at dawn and busies her hands
hoping her mind will follow
A-hum, she makes the clink of delicate ceramic
against a silent kitchen
and the smell of tea
She bites without thinking
nips the finger, stains the bread
The skin remembers the club and the whip
long after the cage is opened
goading the snarl to rise
She knows a strange song
composed of notes written in cursive
“I could tell you but you’ll have to kill me”
is her only reply, brassily
when I ask the key
She whispers a defiant flag
to the tip of the mast of a tiny ship
adrift on a tiny sea
capturing vessels
twice her size and vanishing
She wraps her bare legs around a fly
digs her fingernails
into its back hoping
to catch the wings in her fist
and tear them off at the root
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