Once I Owned

a bluejay.
It sang within its
golden cage, the
gilded bars and notes of
a Victorian lullaby.
In its tiny head danced
visions of
taffeta and lace,
snatches of Dickens,
aged queens atop ruins
of empires.
My bluejay and I were
in love, yet when
I wore a cotton shirt, he
wept,
and I was confined to a
silken blouse.
When I slid into
denim,
he wailed, and shattered
glass,
and I was trapped in ruffles
of petticoats and frills.
When my closet was free
from all offending items,
he cried no more,
but now I find that I
am just as caged as he.