Every night I cook chicken

and hope the sizzle

of bird flesh on my stovetop

will awaken my own wings

in an attempt to save

my fellow bird,

so that I might fly free

of the small room

but night after night,

I remain wingless,

splashed with cooking oil,

waiting until dinner is done.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s