now, to me, you live in snapshots

of new furniture and haircuts

but you grow in my memories

like your latest vegetable plots.

inside of your heart, oh inside

there is, you are, what I perceive

as my most unfamiliar home.

how much you must have altered…

yet how much have you truly changed?

You asked if I feel free as a bird.

Frankly, I found the question absurd

I take flight not for joy of leaving

But through instinct, the push to survive

I’m skittish; it’s what keeps me alive.

I truly don’t want to want to leave

But I’m too prey to receive reprieve.

See, I feel edible as a bird

I am plucked by and plucked from my nest

Call me chicken if you think it best.