A Year and A Day

I rummage through the sheets with my legs.

She sits in the chair across from me and I

lock myself in white. Refusing to scream

at the moon for lying

and leaving me here

because that would validate their suspicions.

The birds that sit on the highest branch

bravely exposing themselves far above

the gossip of limb and leaf

always catch my eye.

A gust of wind rustles and they are loud.

The bird’s wings stretch and flutter.

I stagger back and forth trying to balance on one

foot as they do.

Someone has seen me buying new sheets.

Stumbling with sudden weight of wings

as shame throws me again.

They have not been cleaned in some time.

I shall return to bed and wrap my limbs in white.