At Saffron

We talked so emphatically
about my mind being
trapped
under coils of barbed wire,
that you looked genuinely concerned.

I apologized,
profusely.

I told you
I feel like a caged bird -
my tines shackled
to a ring of iron around my beak.
My feathers plucked out
and clipped.

You said,
Can I help in any way?

I said,
No.
You cannot.

You held my hand.

I shook it off,
like I would, a cup
of sifted flour.

I asked for the check,
and talked to you about
a blossoming gladiolus,
my mind squatting
over thoughts, as
dark as a tumor.