sometimes I hate the hope that
still rents room in my head, my
heart, perched bird that sings
even when I’ve thrown
a towel over her cage
and drawn all the drapes

why won’t she SHUT UP
I want to squeeze her
brittle neck, feel her
feathers squish between
my fingers, crack of
bone, ooze of blood

tell me we’ve reached the
bottom, that I’m dragging
my feet through the dregs
now, that this is finally
where hope comes

to die, where dreams de-
compose and I unknow
all the knowing, let go
of all the growing
and rot

deep into the soil, feather
and bone together
sinking silent then
split, bit by bit
into dust

tell me this is
finally, where
hope comes
to die, then
maybe I


©️ Nichole Q. Perreault