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