the newspaper boy once told me
love is loud. scream three times
each day, and someone will
at least feed you: sugar-
snap peas thrown, showering
like hail, macadamia nuts
scattered like words, even
safflower seeds sprinkling the nest
of their bowl. after i peck
through the glistening bars
with my beak, the pearly queen
hops over, bare feet tapping
the linoleum floor, dropping a half-formed ball
of mashed seeds and grease
at my lip of my cage.
inside: rainwater clings
to her microwaveable frozen peas, my talons
crushing the kitchen counter’s dish
of pine nuts back into fiber, waxy
skins , seeds so brittle
they leave yellow ghosts on my tongue.
i swallow them quickly, before
the flavor can curl into the air, disappearing
into the corners of this cage.
nothing lingers but husks—
a hollow clink, seed dust
coating the afternoon like breath.
outside, the sky hums a hymn while plunking clouds like keys—
pitter, patter, patter.
the rhythm spills through
the joints of my swaying perch.
then: gold seeps from the horizon
like chatter. come on out!
come on out! and love stirs—
my wings itching at the feeling.
Hanyi Zhou is a young poet from Hong Kong. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Minnesota Review and Zone 3, and has been recognized by the Bennington Young Writers Awards, Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, and the Nancy Thorp Poetry Contest.