I was her tiny little lover
And she wouldn't let anyone else come close

Not that you were ever tempted

Now I'm happy
You're there, just around the corner
And I've got my lovers
And that's the second best thing.

The panicked heart
Is pushing the shoulder,
  pushing the elbow,
     pushing that hinged down wrist,

In hopes that one swift motion
Will untangle the word ribbon
In neat short lines on yellowed paper

Those wings that scratch and claw inside the little cage
Bleeding the walls
Will break free to fly and feed.

But Monday mornings I take great care
The wrist is nailed tightly on the cross
All the pistons are jammed in just the right way
Come Friday night the ribbon won’t untangle
And the bird will give up, sometime.

To the Goddess of morn
who made bread from fire
and taught me how to read
to read the wreaths of coffee
into the songs of dawn.

And to the Mason who
showed me how to hammer,
form out of chaos
and cherish the scent of
the cement on grey-green walls.

© LazharBouazzi