Bound to a boxspring
With scars on her legs and feet
Eyes adjusting to the light
The faint glow of day warm and sweet

I had never seen wings so silken
Like sheets of cashmere doused in flame
With arms open wide, tied
As if she were a part of the old bed frame

I ask her for her name
As though she would remember vividly
Eight long weeks in the dark
She croaks “sorrow” timidly