IN GLASS PYRAMID

by Kenton K. Yee

Suddenly I’m free, through the double pane,
among—one of them, flapping, gliding, cawing:
“An SUV mashed Sebastian on 5th and Yale.”
“One of Em’s eggs hatched—girl, 1.8 ounces.”
Then more cawing, an avalanche of takeoffs,
U-turns, vying, swooping, perching. Out here,
there’s no rights, walls, nor subtext pressures.
One eats whatever she can nick, kill, or poach.
Pity the wingless inside the cuboid pyramids,
glass-encrusted prisons, high-rise aquariums—
sad naked chickens peering out, longing to loot
our rabbit habitats, garbage heaps, fish fields—
“Daddy, I’ll wait for you in the elevator bank”
yanks me back into our glass pyramid again

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Kenton K. Yee

Kenton K. Yee’s recent poems appear in Kenyon Review, Threepenny Review, Cincinnati Review, RHINO, Quarterly West, Poetry Northwest, Electric Literature, Poetry Wales, Fairy Tale Review, Rattle, and other journals. Kenton writes from Northern California.