Girl with Birds Inside Her
After an animated drawing by Rachel Goodyear
What I cannot say is flutter.
This sparrow, this starling, this blackbird, this wren
have swiped my mouth. I don’t know if I am spitting
them out or if they are leaving of their own accord,
they are obviously scribbles, more than likely flirting
with ideas of take-off and being airborne,
each day their dawn chorus wakes me in discord.
What I cannot say is twitter
as I regurgitate and try to recall
how, when and where I swallowed them; perhaps they swooped
inside as I slept and perched in my ribcage,
separated from their flocks, then panicked
and made nests in there like bricolage,
each one makes a steady exit, there is no recoil.
What I cannot say is song
although my expression recalls a vocalist
in the middle of a soulful display.
Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye,
someone fetch me an occultist
because life has gone horribly wrong,
feathered friends, with each loss part of me dies.
What I cannot say is locked inside a bird’s wing,
the angle of attack, the spontaneity,
the flap, its loneliness, a kind of fragility.
This is a sparrow, this is a starling,
this is a blackbird, this is a wren,
there’s no use in looking
and no telling when they will be gone.