The art of Gerda Wegener
I spend my days
between a hawk and a hard face.
You make my cage comfy, as cages go,
with perches aplenty,
and millet for snacks.
But there are still bars,
and the fact that you say you love me,
while needing to keep me captive.
I stare at the door all day
that opens and closes
only at your whim.
When I gaze contemplatively at the sky,
there is a faint remembering
that makes my wings itch.
Out there, in the vast expanse of cerulean blue,
hawks, big cats, eagles, hunger, cold
posted for Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads: to write a poem inspired by the art of Gerda Wegener. A caged bird popped into my head and demanded she be given a voice.