Like Flies

It came in through the front door

a dense, black body and paper wings crashing headlong

into the window screen above where I lay

Over and over he pounds on his prison

dumb to my quiet eye

What if I can save him, I think

I’d be so beautiful

A little god with red fingernails and a book on my chest

On the first try, I capture him loosely

delighting in the beast that beats like a heart

against the womb of my fist

I rise to free him on the porch steps

Flower petal fingers unfolding into sunlight

But he doesn’t fly…

The right wing is bent awkwardly and an eyelash foot flutters

Once

Twice

And then no more

Perhaps I am no god after all

Only a child holding on too tight

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