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Poetry: Keystone & Captive
By Haley Zilberberg
QuailBellMagazine.com
Keystone
We keep canaries in our bedroom because we are scared. Their chirps are servant reminders, their songs are the cocoon of a fleece blanket in Winter. When the first two died we screamed until we realized it was probably just the poison of old age. When there were no songs left we plucked their golden feathers and wear them around our necks like a medal, like we won first place in not yet dying. When luck was dust being swept away we’d press the plumage between forefinger and thumb and blow on the dandelion yellow. Make a wish. ... Captive “No outlet” like a loud shout on an angry yellow sign in front of a side street-- just past another sign reading “Welcome to Captiva Island.” My hands tugging at my mother’s sleeve from the back seat. She seems so calm when she tells me that the sign simply means there is no land beyond. The ocean is grey and slapping the jagged rocks with hands that seem to be trying to get high enough to pull the gravel road down with it. I close my eyes tight, convinced we are at the end of the world the very edge. The pretty blue and pink houses manage to escape the slurping tides separated by the sea by just the rocky road. My eyes bug out bigger the closer we get to the screaming yellow sign. “Isn’t it beautiful,” my mom says to no one in particular, admiring houses adorned with conch shells and sand dollars, with painted mermaids and metal sculpted dolphins. My sister and dad agree shaking their heads with awe and admiration. I’m digging my nails into the grey cloth of the car seat hoping we don’t fall over the edge of the world, begging the ocean to just stay put and not take us with it. #UnReal #Poem #Poetry #Cage #Canary #EdgeOfTheWorld #Sea #Beach #Island #Ocean #Flight #Escape #Freedom
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