Red Bird
By Donika Kelly

I learn to sleep with the doors open.
My legs open. The air full of water.
Locusts molt in perfect derivation,
green from brown. The red bird inside my chest,
between my knees. This red bird calls
like it is spring, like a brown hen will cock
her head and answer. We are in the full
throat of summer, my red bird and I.
The locust, whirring in the redbud;
unhusking itself on brick, too large now
for its old, parchment body.
I rub my legs together.
I let water out of the air.
I am full throated and calling.

This poem is from Kelly's book, Bestiary. Bestiary was long-listed for the 2016 National Book Award and won the 2015 Cave Canem Poetry Prize. I found this PDF of the entire collection if you want to read more. You could also buy a copy. It has a great cover. I found this poem through the most recent issue of Lue's Poetry Hour, which featured exclusively poems by Black poets about birds.