poem written based upon this image-online poetry class assignment
The parakeet stands at the microphone, white and yellow feathers lit as though morning itself has perched beside him. He leans forward slightly, a small body holding a large intention. He has not made a sound. Yet the room feels tuned~ a pause rising like a curtain, waiting for whatever note he is gathering in his chest. Even the air seems to pause, as if anticipation were a kind of music, a bright, trembling thread drawn taut between what is and what might be. He lifts one foot, then the other, a tiny choreography of readiness. The microphone gleams, patient, expectant, as though it knows the first note will change the day. And when he finally opens his beak, the world draws closer~ not for the song itself, but for the miracle of the moment just before it.
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