(December 21, 1992)
Sesqui used to bundle in blankets,
stretch on carpet,
stare blindly at the metal cage hanging
from the ceiling in the corner
of the living room by the hallway.
Our poor little bird- blue, and white
with some green on the ends
of black spotted feathers,
and claws that grasped the small beam of wood
with gentle, dancing precision.
A sweet voice chirping and gurgling
descended form his cage and
beckoned for us to sing along.
Something I recall... moments
taken for granted- of my bird.
Sesqui emerged from bundled blankets,
stretched full wide on the carpet-
claws protruding into the yarny texture,
as he crept to the corner with anticipation
where hung the cage of my bird.
The baby-sitter sat with us on the couch.
The show buzzed and entertained,
but wouldn't have kept little me so captive,
had I seen in time the cat crawl low by instinct-
spine bending, claws aching to grasp the cage.
With a song of freedom,
my bird escaped the safe bars,
but could not fly...
his clipped wings fought gravity,
and the pain of Sesqui's claws.
