There’s a bird in my throat, maybe
a wren or a cardinal. I feel it as I wait
on the subway. Feathers scratch my insides,
my body thrown around with every start
and stop, wing beats against
the walls of my heart, clanging the golden
walls of the cage I make up. They’ll call
animal control, terrified fingers tapping
out the number. Golden walls replaced with
metal rusting from my tears.
Taber Cannon is a Manhattan-based writer, whose work has been previously recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. When not writing, Taber spends the majority of the time listening to Florence + the Machine and longing for a pet grizzly bear.
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