Nestled books
and nested damp hair.
Warm bread and blood-
bloodied
Bloodied bird striking bars; ceramic skull cracked open.
You could’ve held it between two fingers, that small stony thing.
Those steely feathers now matted
your voice buried in static;
pounded piece of clay, caged squarely in chest,
a terracotta truth-
that bird, your voice, this earthly woman,
suddenly in unison:
We were here
We were here
We were here
