lost it (5-6)

scottiehughes:

if I am a bird, I am a city-dwelling
meadowlark that wing-scrapes down
scaffolding, and carves X’s into
church windows worthlessly,
I’ve only been making lost calls
of all the empty eggs shattered
in the nests that no one kept
warm, nests that no one left
to live so if I am a bird I am dis-
assembled disambiguated
discouraged and if you

are a bird you
are a peacock if

you are a bird. you are roasted
pheasant on someone else’s
thanksgiving table and your
wings have long since been
plucked out, once you and I
made twig-houses from plastic
bags like everyone else; now you
only have past tense and today I
don’t move much but up top in
lofts I perch and xylophone-peck

light into holes from spring buds,
tapping on the essence and I bring
forth slick blooms from wet paper ink
if I am a bird I summon wind and life
into the ears of little ones crawling
teething and I am actually saying
“this hurts so much why can’t I
have legs like you all” if you were a bird
you were only a bird when you

were six, and you were in a car
crash or your brother tried to burn
down the school or your mother
threw glass across the kitchen floor
that so cracked your future like eggs
faltering under a thick tourist’s foot see

if you are a bird you aren’t
much of a bird anymore,

and your beaded eyes slither
around when someone puts
a bullet through your breast,

but if I am a bird I still
have a chance of flying