Help
they line up
a long train of mixed spiritual physical hunger
in from their continuous cold realities
the caged, panicking canary in my chest knowing
all I could do was hand them food.
directed to give a cookie and a smile
but wanting to take all the hunger from
their eyes
full with stories of street, abuse, smoke
eyes that see around my forced facial expression
down to my full belly, my opportunity.
eyes that put my canary as the parrot in a room full of black birds.
they pass through
take a meal
my canary freezes
a north wind in the form of a little girl
who looked longingly at the green frosted cupcake
the little girl
who made my smile and my shoes and my jacket seem too much
all I could do was hand them food
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1 comment:
You added lots of really visual descriptions. They can really be felt. It also looks like you changed the title (or is that the first line?), it is like it is screaming from a part of you before you even begin to start the poem.
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