The Days The Lives The Times

oh all my beautiful lovers you were empty
like birds against me, just birds inside me, chairs
instead of allowing you to come to nest I held on tight, crippled
made you struggle free, struggle for
these are the letters I meant to speak, arched
but stilled up the spaces with anger instead and
reading aloud these pages locked up with effort

from a diary never meant to be read, on a chair
counting these beautiful days numbered days crippled
days spent in wondering what I was writing for
pages ruffle so loud with the turning close eyes and arch
fingers back, and turn another page. and
hear leaves feel against my fingers with effort
in my throat are the songs of too many empty

sparrows flown so far south

-- Holly Day