IN A CAGE
The bull mastiff
a pug’s kennel
a lovely hand embroidered quilt
a warming pad
an over stuffed heart
oozes out between the ribs
each pulsing torturous beat
in its trembling and swollen and pinched vessel
like red jello dumped into a clenching fist
an eagle in a parakeet cage
its brilliant precise piercing eye
searching a terry cloth towel
to keep out the light.
paces the same paths
day after day
like a kit fox
in artificial night
as small children scream
and bang on the glass
her giant ears quivering
she steps toes deep in a fresh pile of shit.
Meanwhile in her mind which is wrapped in swaddling cloth, a crown of daisies, tinkling bells and doves fly in circles around her
finds herself filled with a hateful violence, the cloth is burlap, the crown is thorny, a piercing animal scream, and horseflies madden.
You see, all these things are the same.
Caged birds do not always sing.
Wishing this would leave her
Wishing she could embrace it
Too tight to fit through the gate
in this cage which can no longer contain her.
The only thing left is to wait for the key
or to smash the cage.