speak - don't.

there are days when i feel like
the marrow-bone parts of me are
as empty as a bird's wing broken
under the back tire of my car reversing,
days when i am weightless and
the wind whistles through me it says
grit and sunlight and i could spread
my arms like the crook of your wings
the day after the day you died and lean
out of my window like a kite, my
teeth all jangled in the string and down
around your wrist there are days when i
hold on to whatever is passing by and
there are days when my feathers are bandages
because the whip thin branches
battering my car windows never held any love
for anything that was moving too fast to
stop; there are days when my palm lines
are carved in rock and stitches and
there are days when my jaw aches
from keeping my fangs sunk deep into
the wood above the door and there are days
so many days when my feet so not touch
the ground and the spreads of my fingers
feel like unwashed sheets in the wind, there
are days when i feel like a pirate ship and
all i want to do is crack my bottom open like
a champagne bottle on the kissing rocks beneath

and sink