Green Days

A green-cheeked conure
dances on my bathroom sink,
and then on my shoulder,
and then on its cage door,
and then on the floor,
porch chair, mantel and
gravestone.
This is all I do today.
This is all we do today.

I feed the bird a noodle
and she steals a sip of my father’s iced tea.
Today, I pretend she’s an airplane 
that’s making a crash landing
on Mars.  The bird goes along with it.

I offer her a bite of a fry and tell her
to prepare for lift off. There is some
turbulence. She squawks.

I get ready for bed. I have school in the morning,
and she’s going to be a chef tomorrow.
She’s going to make the best apple pie,
decorated with one green feather.

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Angel Rosen
is a queer poet who likes to read, bake and watch RuPaul's Drag Race.  She has recent work with Olney, Acropolis and Spillover mag forthcoming. Angel is the author of two poetry collections, Aurelia and Blake.

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