When I die, trap my soul in a birdcage
With a little plastic bath, and a plastic bowl for food
Wrap the bars in cellophane so I can’t slip through

Because I will never be ready to go.

I will learn all the right songs to convince your guests
That it’s a bird in the cage, and not your dead wife
I will finally learn how to whistle in key.

____
Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in The Cape Rock, New Ohio Review, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry collections are A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press), In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press), A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), I’m in a Place Where Reason Went Missing (Main Street Rag Publishing Co.), and The Yellow Dot of a Daisy (Alien Buddha Press,) all published in 2018.

Photography by Roger Camp