Feathers

While there is someone left
to remember, we can believe we exist—

What of the things we used to call
ours? do they continue to exist as long

as we can call them back to mind?
Those birds we kept in a wire cage

on the porch, pairs of white and dun
and dusky yellow: how they sang

as if they’d never known migration
nor seen widows walking down the road.

Leave a Reply