Birdhouse
       

You fiddle with the catch
between my legs until my mouth
springs open and I am
crowing like an everyday bird that has
entered the heights of an aviary. I am
scaling the bars, wide-
spreading my common or garden
fan while your beady eye hangs
over my body. My voice goes
flying in our feathered bed from
your forefinger and thumb, my next cry
rests on the tip of your tongue.

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Copyright © 2011 Anna Woodford All rights reserved
from Birdhouse
Salt Publishing
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission