Glas Wen

ALEXIS WALLER

A glass wren resides in the nest of my mother’s drawers Red velvet lining for sticks and pearls for eyes

Time does not exist for those kept within the confines of your mother’s drawers

Especially not the birds but what Would you know of cages made of gold?

And what of you with jail cells made of stone? With your songs seeped red and your smile bleeding blue? What of you then?

I must think of my mother’s glass wren with its sanded wings made terribly thin they cannot fly but They can bite

So they must never see the floor

sky? Yet they shatter at a drop, at the sound of a pin against the floorboards

of the And what