Gray Cell — A Dream

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“Gray Cell” — C.Birde, 5/18

 

 

Featureless room. Monochrome gray. A 10-foot square cell. No door. Lacking windows. A chamber deprived, depriving. Soundless. Scentless. Without texture. But for the rectangular hole — a 3-foot wide horizontal slot, 9 inches high, 8 feet up. Light drifts and gently slips past the rectangle’s hard edges. Shadows pass. Hint of movement beyond. The rift darkens, fills. Squares of fabric choke the slot, tumble — edge over edge — into the cell. One after another.  Rough weave of fabric; rust orange. Another and another. The pace of their entry increases. Rapidly, the chamber fills, becomes a landscape of heavy, rumpled rust. Ankle deep. Calf deep. Knee deep. Still, the slot coughs up more. Waist deep. Ribs deep. Shoulders burdened. Lungs restricted. The once-gray cell, transformed. Sunset hues consume, bury.

 

— C.Birde, 5/18

 

Falling Above — A Poem

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“Above” — C.Birde, 5/18

 

Overhead,

above –

an earthward

tumble

of song and

smoke,

d

o

w

n

through budding

trees.

Two small birds,

a palm’s worth

each…

Beating wings.

Knitted,

knotted feet.

Rivals –

singing,

calling,

 falling

d

o

w

n.

For one fleet

moment,

I might

be crowned,

adorned in

feathered,

kinetic

strife.

 

— C.Birde, 5/18

 

Returned — A Poem

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“Window” — C.Birde, 5/18

 

Like a young

creek –

bouncing & jaunty,

erratic;

Like morning

light –

spangled & bright,

yet vaporous;

His song

accompanies dawn,

trips through the air,

&   g l i d e s   through

the second-story

window

to announce

his arrival…

Spring is absolute

now

Catbird is

returned.

 

 

— C.Birde, 5/18