The shell cage inside me
swings with a haunted bird,
eyes wide
mid-molting that never completes.
The cage door is open,
but what use is flying
when the sky is broken.
Can you hear the
humiliation, grief, and shame
in her song?
Job and God say,
beware your “friends.”
They pretend to be with you
but just want to fix you
when they should
break their own harps, their harmonicas,
smash their own guitars,
and just let her sing.