I said to Elizabeth
that sometimes, I wonder if
we're really filled with
guts
and
muscles
and
bones
and things.

She asked me why,
so I replied:
"Because sometimes
I feel
quite empty,
when I'm sad."

She was quiet a little while.
"If you were all hollow,"
she wondered slowly,
"What would you keep inside?"

Then I was quiet too, because I wasn't sure.
Eventually I knew.
"Birds, beneath my rib cage.
They'd tickle me during class,
and I'd smile, and no one would know why."

Elizabeth wasn't sure.
"But don't you think, eventually,
they would starve, and die?"

"I'd roll pieces of bread between my fingers
and then I'd eat them and
they'd catch them with their beaks."

"What if they ate,
not just bread but
your
lunch
and
dinner
and
breakfast
and
tea?"

I hooked my thumbs together,
waggled my fingers,
and flew my bird-hands to her.
"Well then, I suppose
I'd have to set them free."