how can a part of the world feel so little of it? once, you were a boy. now you are a bird. clipped wings. wire-wrapped beak. all windows open, then slammed shut. where to go from here? where else could you ever be? all ruffled feathers. wide eyes. pained trill. body of denial, what are you telling me? what are you keeping behind the shell of your beak? you forage, build. you’ve remained in your cage, separate from the world. you will stay for at least another year, gifted the sun only through glass. let us, for a time, discard the metaphor. where is the difficulty in sincerity? once, i watched you wade into saltwater. i followed behind until we grew chapped and blue. now you’re caged and i’m drowning in your wake. your knowledge was passed down patrilineally. your instinct to run. to rush. to shout. to squeeze life from the future for pleasure in the present. your knowledge was passed to you through sweat and salt and blood and brash. the scar running across your scalp belongs to him. belongs, is caused by, is a false correlation. i lay the blame at his feet and he rises, faultless. let’s return to the metaphor now, we’re getting too close. you forage, build. you hide in small cavities. you steal. you feast. flock eagerly to what is left behind. scavenge, blameless. you’ve adapted to break open, saw at what you want until it splits for you. your voice, a powerline. your eyes, a currency. you speak a language known only to you. i replicate your replication. you mimic the mockingbird. you rise, rejoin the world. a bird, changed.
BEE LB is an array of letters, bound to impulse; a writer creating delicate connections. they have called any number of places home; currently, a single yellow wall in Michigan. they have work published in or forthcoming from FOLIO, Roanoke Review, Figure 1, Chapter House, The Offing, and Tagvverk, among others. their portfolio can be found at https://twinbrights.carrd.co/
