Aunt Jewel Wanted To Be A Painted Bunting

Not the quiet, dutiful female but the male-- 

blue head, chest and body colored a rich red,

neon greens and yellows inlaid across shoulders

and across the expanse of dark wings. 

Bouncing, lilting flight like a butterfly,

she wants to shed the dull colors of the fledgling,

claim her territory, sing from an exposed perch,

boldly fluff and vibrate her feathers,

capture the attention of the fox and coyote.

Watching the sky, she waits for the flock

to swoop her up and carry her away

on the warm morning air.

Wearing her finest feathers,

she flies from the front porch out into the street 

to join de-segregation marchers--

black hair up in a messy chignon,

ruby-colored short shift dress, lips and nails

painted dark red, high heeled red mules 

with gauzy red bows across the straps,

large brimmed straw hat with white flowers 

and a huge royal blue butterfly pinned on one side,

bright green boa draped across her shoulders.

She gets her name placed on trouble-maker rolls 

and a one-way ticket to the state hospital. 

Stripped, showered, and scrubbed, her colors circle the drain.

She escapes when she can, running down white hallways naked, 

scratching at crimson, bumpy skin, bereft of her lovely feathers, 

intermittently screaming and singing wildly.

The orderlies lure her back with the promise of tomato sandwiches, 

cigarettes, and a walk in the courtyard.

F.D. Jackson lives in the southeastern U.S., along with her husband and sundry furry family members. She writes about the restorative and transformative power of nature. Her works have appeared or are forthcoming in FERAL, Willawaw, Third Wednesday, Orange Juice, Book of Matches and others.