wildscape. literary journal

encomium of the canary
by K. McNeil

my captor keeps me close and clipped
like song.
i am that yellow bird-like thing,
fluent in suffering-speak.
a ruffled sunny hue
i sing sounds of soot and coal
here in these hollow mines.
tell me,
watcher of the home and holder of the
key,
do you know the taste of iron bars,
the feel of smoke in wings?
stroke my body softly
and call me a good bird.
i see that you are nothing.
i am queen of this cage, you know,
of stolen southern skies.
false idol on a dusty shelf
there is no church for a songbird.
fold me in a cloth and put me in
the garden
for i would rather see me dead
than live life a warning.

about the author // K. McNeil