Gavin Austin
Uncaged
She follows the nurse whose rubber-soled shoes squeak on the polished linoleum as she leads along the corridor. Death lurks within the silent walls as surely as the smell of disinfectant. Briefly, she pauses at the end of the hallway, in front of a statue of Mary: plaster palms outstretched, gaze averted.
silent
behind burnished bars
the bird
with clipped wings
too precious to fly
His eyes are far too big now as they look from a shrunken face. They appear to speak to her, communicating more than the unintelligible sounds he emits. The huge eyes plead with her to, somehow, perform her miracle once more and give him life.
About the Author
Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia. He writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.