from bed, your yellow bird

he couldn’t find his way through the textural maze of self-doubt and criticisms sang to him before bed

there were still bars surrounding him

cries to stay alive barely realized all he could surmise is those legs better bend and rise to help him climb up to the only group big enough to feel like he belonged

homo erectus

homo connectus

they couldn’t exclude him

they’d try

running through fields of cigarette butts and self serving pin pricks, random stray dog licks, and get out of here boot kicks he found the porch

there, his eyes, unable to stay as still as his blessed heart laid fresh to his yellow bird.

a peculiar feathered friend who found a perch nestled where the pole met light, well, half-light as it struggled to illuminate the lives left behind by economic rewind and prepared paychecks to keep in-line the ones who had to make it to the end of the row

a distant connection undefined, interspecies, yellow bird stared straight, their eyes catching

he fumbled a tweet sound from lips left without water, yellow bird cocked her head and riffle fired a ‘good morning’

he replied, in english, he figure she’d have to learn to discern the chopped sounds stumbling as pleasantries were exchanged

‘will you be my…’ barely met oxygen when she swooped close and led him down blocks built for ‘others’, this was new

gliding freely, from corner store to school door they followed nothing and found no floor his heels hardly hitting a ground where lines were found, outlined cousins and sisters bound, street names and histor-ies to protect and divide, relied on boundaries and lies that trap and bind our senses

there’s no mystery

it’s the songs we hear when nights are blistery, do they keep us calm or awake, waiting to take this piece of cake promised to us once a year

she led him back to the porch

not a spark, a roaring torch kept him warm and would help inform the decisions left to lead him through the dim lit days

she’ll come back