Anger flew from your red mouth
like a bird
shining and strong, swooping, diving
and rising to bare wings
wide as heaven, colored like flame
with a body blue and fearfully pure white
and long, flickering feathers,
and its sound was the pitch of a woman
coming home with wide eyes to ashes and black rafters
and no trace of her child,
and its delicate white bones were made of justice
and the sharpest truth.
You should have let the anger have its way with me,
let it tear through my hair and the space inside my skull.
Instead you led me out
and closed its mouth.