Struck by a Sparrow

Struck by sparrows flung in a dark
cage, the snow has been gone

for seven long summers. There is cake sitting
out on the stove

but it's none of my concern:

the birthday party was last
week.

Then the postman, someone

who was much like my father, told me I
could
no longer come home anymore:

he didn't like the way my hat
rested
on my head.

That was the last I heard of old

Belfast, the old man
who once gave me my
bread.

-published in Toasted Cheese Journal