Getting the bird out*

There is a little bird where my heart should be.
Sweet little thing, but it's killing me.
Tiny bird with fragile wings,
it can't fly out, it's tied by a string,
sitting in my ribcage, trying to sing.

It's quite a dilemma for me.
I'm always dizzy,
pins and needles in my hands and feet.
I've got to get it out, but it's so sweet.
My life or it's life, I can't decide.
I wish my chest would open wide
enough for my heart to beat
and the bird to sing.
But it's the bird or me,
or we both might die.
So little bird--goodbye.


*I saw a Kiki Smith installation at the Whitney a few weeks ago. This poem was inspired by one of her works of the same title.