The bird in the zoo,
A fleeting shadow,
While the tigers, lions, and bears sit pristine.
Behind glass, behind iron,
The ice cooler hums its silent cold,
A tire swing creaks in empty air,
A scratching post stands tattered,
Drawing the eyes of tourists,
The pride of the wild carry distant memories of jungles and savannahs,
Of woods that no longer exist,
Only flashes and pointed fingers remain.
They perform for their meals,
Hiding nothing,
Not a sliver of escape in sight,
There are no corners,
No refuge from the onslaught of gazes.
The birds come,
Landing briefly,
Their wings heavy with the weight of both freedom and confinement,
Dipping their beaks into water,
Picking at scraps,
And then, without a word,
They depart,
Gone again to the wild,
Leaving only the scent of freedom behind.
I, too, am a wild bird in a domestic zoo,
Half caged, half free,
My spirit soaring beyond the bars,
Yet tethered still to the eyes that watch me.