I come back as some kind of bird

what I thought would
be over: suffering of

everything being mostly
crap, but it turns out here

I am clinging to this branch
peering side-eye into your

kitchen, mystified by the
new distance between us

you still you, anhedonically
wolfing some sordid mess

straight from the pot, naked
at the stovestill courting

harm, I see. I might stun
myself against the glass

to startle you, only I know
that shatterproof trance

plus I know later you’ll hear
me out back in the tree

of heaven yelling in my new
raucous voice so hungry

so hungry so hungry for all
the bad things I’d do again.

Martha McCollough is a writer and videographer who lives in Chelsea, Massachusetts. Her videos have appeared in TriQuarterlyRattapallax, and El Aleph, and prose poems in the journal small po[r]tions. She is a member of Atlantic Works, a co-op gallery in East Boston, and works as a graphic designer.