If we must play god we mustn’t be surprised
when they bow. Like an iron cross falling
at our feet, they’ve come to wipe the record
clean. Do we concede? Do we look weak?
Let’s seek reason free of feeling. What do we do
when the bird grows smaller than the space
between the bars of its cage? We can rubberband
its beak. We can give it a holy book. But let’s not
clip its wings. Birds get shot on the ground.
Let them gather around feeders and tell stories.
Let them not be silenced by the seeds.
A generation of junkies will write
such wonderful autobiographies.
Let them call us the enemy should they speak.
Dylan Weir teaches Composition at The University of Wisconsin in Madison, where he earned an MFA in poetry. A 2018 Work-Study Scholar at the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, his poems are forthcoming in: The Florida Review, Ninth Letter, North American Review, Passages North, Salt Hill, and Sycamore Review.