Metamorphosis

 

First came a fear of cats

and a passion for pink,

bright scarves at her breast.

 

Then her voice cracked

quite suddenly, on Tuesday.

She’d always been a chatterer

 

but now chatter became chirp,

throat squeezed to chirrup –

message missed by the children.

 

By Thursday, they noticed that

she’d shrunk; Friday found her

perched on the coat rack

 

camouflaged by the feather boa

Polly wore to the New Year’s party.

Now, as vernal equinox approaches,

 

she bursts from the boa, feathers

fluttering, and she’s smaller still,

but bright and blushing in her new

 

pink apron, and he remembers her

as she was when he first knew her –

that feathered haircut was in fashion

 

and she flew at him for their first embrace.

Now, terrified, he sees her fly

in circles round the hall, the chirp

 

grown shriller, her eyes sprung sideways.

When she spots him, she seems as startled

by him as he is by her.  They stare

 

at one another; her new beak opens

to peck at the seed sown years ago.

Then she flies hard at the closed window.