My beloved is a bird named Resentment.
His feathers are thistles and when he whistles,
When he dances and caws, defiles with his claws,
And pecks at his compeer, songs of contempt sneers,
My world disappears.
“Why, you broke my beak, my wings and my voice,”
Squawks he who dove straight at my window by choice.
“Hold still, stupid bird, that to your scrapes I may tend!”
Tighter squeezed I ‘til he lay limp in my hand.
I’m no one’s beloved, my name Possession.
Drew I my conclusion, truth or illusion,
The tenderness ruse, cultivated abuse,
Through the art of stillness, transmitted illness,
My world was regained.
February 16th, 2020 by Passenger B ©
Image: The Goldfinch by Carel Fabritius