Bird Chest
On the phone with my sister I say, “I finally broke the code.” The secret is uncaring When I’ve exhausted his youth atop the Queen mattress he tells me his anxious dreams and realities With my head rested on his narrow chest I imagine feeding him like a nestling but a worm is sustenance and bait I just had a birthday older now than the man who plucked me when my pin feathers were still sharp The stories of his life are rough and intimate so I coo sweet nothings instead of regurgitations I understand my promises are weighted Whether he learns to fly or fall I don’t think I am allowed push someone small just to feel the wind rush past