THE PARAKEET
She sits on my shoulder like
A defiant parakeet
She reads the words I already wrote
Stops at stanza three, line two and waits
As though then and there
She acquired some deep patience
Her deep blue-green eyes hold a steady stare/
For what pops up next
She preens her feathers, breathes heavy
Rereads stanza one and two
I look into her piercing seven-year eyes
And say, next line.
Rachel
Tramonte