I found the skeleton of a bird
under our window, outside our house.
Now I carry it in my pocket,
and hide it when I sleep, next to you.
I think it heard the dirty things we said
and judged it would be better dead.
It must have seen you cry,
must have heard our spiteful lies.
I often wonder if it's an angel,
who carried too much on its back.
and I often think, I'm glad he did;
plush polyester cushioning his head.
But sometimes, it's just a bird,
because when it's quiet I hear it sing,
so I hide it deeper, where it can't be heard
just in case you hear it live
and snap its wing or break its head
do all the dirty things you said,
but its heart fell through its ribs;
you can't hurt this, what no longer lives.
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Carlotta Eden
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I found the skeleton of a bird
under our window, outside our house.
Now I carry it in my pocket,
and hide it when I sleep, next to you.
I think it heard the nasty things we said,
and judged it would be better dead.
It must have seen you cry,
must have heard our spiteful lies.
I often wonder if it's an angel,
who carried too much on its back -
and then I think, I'm glad he did;
polyester cushioning his head.
But sometimes, it's just a bird,
because when it's quiet I hear it sing,
so I hide it deeper, where it can't be heard
just in case you hear it live
and snap its wing or break its head
do all the dirty things you said,
but its heart fell through its ribs;
you can't hurt this, what no longer lives.
Carlotta Eden