my first love
killed a bird under his boot
and it took me two years to understand
that broken wings meant broken lives
that a broken skull wasn't too far behind
the night of the dead bird i ran home and cried
my second love
said, "saru mo ki kara ochiru"
spoke to me in japanese
words that meant, "even monkeys fall from trees"
then pushed me off and watched for me to fly
a little bird, with a brittle wing – he watched for me to fly
my third love
full of whiskey and rage
told me of his psychoses
long before they came to play
all of the weight of the disaster of our love
mounting until i could push him off with a grieving shove
my fourth love
found me on the ground
on a cool fall evening, and picked me up
and walked with me, and never suspected a thing
until he looked under my coat and found a broken wing
so can i blame him?
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