A kea eats from my palm By Alice van Duuren

A kea eats from my palm

I cradle a feast within the bowl
Of my offering hands. The claws
Do not hesitate. Beak, gently
Lifting seed and nut, dried
Sultanas and cranberries. The dark
Beak whispers against my delicate
Lifeline. This small kindness

Consumes me. At night, I toss
With the memory of something
So dangerous touching me
With such softness. Did you
Know they can tear apart
An unattended car? Their green
Feathers turn almost black

When stained with the blood
Of sheep. Yet, their vicious
Natures haunt my tender
Palms. They kissed me
As if they understood I was
Fragile, a breath away from
Shattering all over the asphalt.

By Alice van Duuren


Alice van Duuren is a nonbinary writer from New Zealand, who used to hate both reading and poetry. Admittedly, they were 13 at the time and hated just about everything. Since then, they have studied English Literature, Tourism, Screen Production, and Applied Writing. In their free time, Alice likes to daydream about dragons, cuddle with their cat, and drink excessive amounts of tea. Social media Tumblr: lavenderfables.tumblr.com Twitter: @lavenderfables Carrd: thelavenderfables.carrd.co

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