“The wolf howled under the leaves
And spit out the prettiest feathers
Of his meal of fowl:
Like him I consume myself.”
– Arthur Rimbaud
A TRIBUTE TO DR. MAYA ANGELOU
A black-headed heron flies high above the Horn of Africa,
sailing through the autumn air.
He glares down at what was, is, but will not be.
his wings are slick with oil
He is free, not caged. A caged bird might say:
The free bird dies.
He flies too high-
and eventually reaches the sun.
A scarlet macaw sits in a large cage,
strutting across his wooden perch.
He looks up at what was not, is not, but will be.
his feathers are magnificent, unruffled
He is caged, not free. A free bird might say:
The caged bird dies.
He folds his wings-
and gives up living.