that no one must hear.
Each night I try to drown it.
Each morning I wake up coughing
feathers feathers feathers
as blue as blood in veins.
There is a bird singing a song inside my heart
and if it is allowed to nest
I am afraid of what will be born.
Inside I am all broken yolk
shards of shell, twigs snapped
into kindling between my bones ready to burn.
There is a bird singing a song inside my heart
and the notes are hooks in my throat
that I can’t swallow and dare not spit out.
It’s beak opens like a sore
and scrapes me raw
punctures my lungs with every breath.
There is a bird singing a song inside my heart
that I cannot bare. I would
twist its neck between my hands.
I would swallow coal and roast it
to ash. I would carry it dead
within the cage of my ribs but
that too would also
hurt.
Author Bio:
Couri Johnson is a graduate of the NeoMFA, and a native of Youngstown, Ohio. She recently relocated to Japan where she is working on a book of poetry and a collection of fairy tales. Her work can be found in both print and web, including forthcoming anthology produced by Weird City. She has a chapbook coming out with Dancing Girl Press in Spring 2016, and can be found on twitter at a_couri.