I Remember

I can remember the Amazon-
gliding through the humid air
squawking raucous cries...
celebrating,
joining the vibrant noise
and mess and color
of my brethren.

I was plucked from
my lush sky-
my unique call gagged,
my wings smartly clipped,
wrapped tightly in
newspaper, made to suffocate
with black and white words,
stuffed in crates with
many others of my kind,
smuggled in to places
to be properly displayed
and sold.
I can remember the pain.

They called it teaching
when they forced me
to twist my call into
catchy, cutsey cliche.
I learned well to humble
and subdue my strong,
sharp mouth-
they say not to bite the
hands that feed you.

So for a time, I settled
on my wooden perch,
was mildly amused
with a small square mirror
and a tiny bell-
I reconciled to the cage.

Yet recently, my feathers
ruffled with a breeze
of spirit.
I was not so careful when
hungry for a seed,
allowed razor beak
to puncture flesh.
The shout was beautiful-
sudden and crisp like
an echo of my long
lost voice.
More stunning was the
drop of blood,
like an over-ripe berry on
some exotic tree.
I will always
remember my Amazon.