when I was young I kept
a canary in a cage
I chose her from among
the birds that lived
next to small glass oceans
and coiled leashes
even then I remember
she was solemn
and preferred the edges
at home she brooded silently
in the shit-crusted wicker nest
held by staples to the cage
that had been my great grandmother’s
I named her Vesper
her eggs often broke
shells thin as petals
of white iceberg roses
she did not sing
and I was young
I did not understand
why she was so quiet
but this also does not mean
she did not die
perhaps without ever
having had a chance
to choose a mate
or know the sky