Out of the Box

A bird landed its feet

in the sandy snow

whistling something he heard

from long ago

And a baby cries

as the parents take her

from the chilled car

to somewhere safer

They’re not sure where they’re going.

Should they even be here?

I feel the same way, too

when I begin to fear.

My walls are pastel

but my wardrobe is black

and everything I say

is so no one fights back

There’s a safe place for everyone:

the south, a house, or words,

but I don’t care for molds anymore

I care for misplaced birds.


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