Current
Issue
Volume 12.2
Sarah Brockhaus
—
Guyana’s Absent Finches
The silence is forest,
green and hollowed. We steal what we cannot
have. We pluck it from the sky and cage
it right up. This has never been about birds. It is jealousy,
green and hallowed. We steal what we can, not
to keep, but to clutch as water, to bottle
it up. This has never been right. About the birds: it is jealousy
commodified, how dare they be beautiful, not
to keep but to clutch, as water bottled to
sell. The poachers cry, my children are eating grass. Even need is
a commodity. How dare they. Be beautiful, not
too loud. The sky was a birthright we,
the poachers, sold. The children cry, eat grass, need. Are even my
hands to blame for matching the ones holding the nets? Money is
too loud. We were right, the sky was a birth,
now strapped to ankles through customs, just a few extra bones
to blame. The hands holding the matches, the ones netting money,
have plucked from the sky and caged
just bones, custom-strapped to a few extra ankles, now
the forest is silence.
Bio Copy here
