Cory Henniges

The ways my life changed after the witch turned me into a bird

First off, I can’t do math.
Just can’t. I see one seed shell
or more than one seed. I’m not sure
if this is a bird thing or a me thing.
I can’t smell, which is fine in this cage.
But my memory is great, maybe even better.

I miss: the scent of a thyme, garlic, butter
on a seared steak (I avoid thinking of chicken,
it’s conflicting). Sex and cupping breasts
with warm hands. The happy buzz
from half a cocktail before too many.

What they don’t tell you (because they can’t)
is that shitting is bliss.
It makes up for all the above.
I eat even when I’m not hungry
so that I can poop sooner.

I don’t hate her.
Not for the feathers, or even the cage.
I don’t know why she keeps me
or if she can turn me back.

When she opens the door,
I do not try to leave.
I grip her thumb and this is fine.
I was never meant to fly.

 

 

---

Cory Henniges lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin where his body drives a forklift while his mind travels. His previous work can be found in many procedure revisions and machine operating instructions throughout factories in Eastern Wisconsin.