Outside my window, there is a bird
melting,
dripping from the sill
onto the cat waiting below,
feathers congealing in a tattoo of wings
across its shoulders
while the little claws tangle in its twitching tail
like burrs,
or perhaps just a reminder
of where you draw your strength from,
trailing behind you like empty cans
tied to a wedding carriage,
and tipping red and bitter down your throat
from your wine glass
as her father twirls the bride across the dance floor
and you wonder
what good the memory of wings does.