IMG_1743 (2)
IMG_1743 (2)

Some Songbirds Never Sing

ekphrastic (MET)

I guess I should be flattered by their gazes

watching me

from outside this thick glass.

After all,

is it not every young lady’s dream to catch

the eye of all that pass by

without having to lift a finger?

But I am no young lady

and have not been for quite some time.

I long ago stopped flitting away from the hand of a loved one

to find myself craving their touch

(anyone’s touch).

There was once a time when I reveled in my beauty

honored by the loving eyes

of the lady of the house.

I never expected to live long enough

to reach a century

in which I stand as an antique

and thus am placed carefully behind glass

never to feel skin again

for I am too delicate

(always too delicate).

And thus I have never upheld my purpose

and never will.

I’ve never called milady to supper

or claimed the attention of a room.

Though I guess I mustn’t complain

as the cellmates that surround me

have sung

just as much.

Many of which stand taller and

far more decorated than I

and so have always remained

in such displays.

And so our beauty is our curse

of disuse and silence

and our shiny covers crack and fade

and my loneliness is displayed through the cracks

in my silver.

For this ball on a chain

that swings still beneath my skirt

weighs heavy on my aging heart.

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