Years ago I kept parakeets. My first was named Uncle Elmo. He was a sky colored bird and had cotton candy blue markings on his beak, which was how I learned he was a male. I loved that bird. He talked, better yet he cussed, he made strange noises, and he really seemed as if he was from outer space. I always felt as if Uncle Elmo was a bigger part of me, something of my spirit. He lived until I was about twelve. My second bird was named Delilah; she was sunshine colored with green specks of grass in her feathers, and she was kind of a bitch. She wouldn't sit on anyone's finger, she bit skin for the salt, and she would only talk at night when there was a cover on her cage, but I loved her because my friend's bought her for me for my nineteenth birthday as a surprise. And it became apparent to me, it was if she was the bad that lived inside of me: the rebellious, and she too was a part of my spirit.
I wrote a poem a few years ago, in which I imagined myself as Anne Sexton. I imagined her hunger and put a parakeet in her mouth. I, myself, may have had some similar fantasy, not because of literal hunger, but because sometimes it feels as if something bigger is missing. I titled the poem, "The Truth the Hungry Know (After Anne Sexton)," as she wrote a poem, "The Truth the Dead Know." My poem was accepted and is now part of Cave Moon Presses' fine publication/ anthology, "Broken Circles." Not only is it exciting to be part of a book, but it's even more exciting to be part of a book that reaches for a greater cause: to fight hunger and poverty.
Buy it here:
https://www.createspace.com/3668679
It's for a wonderful cause! I can't wait to receive my copy!
