Darwin Shire

Genderbird

Chickadee, black-capped. Dapper
fellow. You won’t get me this time,

no sir. Hat envy aside, though,
you’ve got a nice ring to you. 

Today, I’ll let you rule my window.
You can teach me how to wear men’s 

hats. Teach me how to sing. Spit
melody to the wind. You don’t care. 

We don’t care. I’ll take your feathers
for a spin. Teach me how. Today

the hunger I feel for the world
      is a skeletal structure, 

hollow-boned. One day 
      I would like to be the poem, 

the one the poet spits out
      secretly, into a napkin under the table 

while their mother
      is distracted with the baby. 

To be what once was secret:
     no longer Formerly Known As.

Any amount of time
      to make sense of such peace,

maybe, is not enough time. 
      Today I am simple and 

growing like a bird
      caught in the act of swallowing.