I Squawk

I am a bird in a cage.

I squawk.

You call it singing.

It isn't.

It is the sound of a beak
striking silence
until silence breaks.

You pass my cage
waiting for music.

I give you anger.

Outside my window,
bluebirds fill mornings
with bright wings.

Crows sit on rooftops,
shouting their names to the world.

I envy them both.

The bluebirds
for the sky that welcomes them.

The crows
for never apologizing
for the sound they make.

I dream of soaring.

Until then,

I squawk.