I am a learning-thing. 

Unpetaling flowers in late spring. Breaking my beak open for a love that isn’t coming. 

Drunk on the greedy need. Cawing nightlong into the blue-black hollow of absence.

Sipping on the scarlet azaleas. Pulling twine from the floorboards of fusty rooms left to dust. 

Moon-faced on wishing. Your magpie-eyes only gaze wantingly at bursts of flashing glitter. 

Feet like raging war hills. Stomping brisk and bitter away, and again, away and gone. 

I curl my toes on a twiggy branch. It heaves under grief’s glistening feathers. 

I am a learning-thing. 

Unpetaling flowers in late spring. Taking wingless flight from the nest I call home.