"Remains of a Caged Bird" by Pedro Iniguez

​We were cleaning out Grandfather’s house,
wading through boxes and heaps of dirt.
Neighbors say in life he was a necromancer,
reanimating things that should have stayed inert.
 
Until we’d found the bird in a rusted pen,
we had paid the rumors no heed.
But the poor thing was festering,
shreds of flesh decaying ‘round its bony beak.
 
The creature was still alive,
halfway ambulant in its cramped cage;
a revenant stomping and hopping
in seething rage.
 
It stopped to sing a mournful tune
with the flicking of its purple tongue.
Wheezing shrill whistles
from perforated lungs.
 
Its hollowed orbitals met our gaze,
a timid, woeful glare.
We tried to pry our eyes
but couldn’t help but stare.
 
We unlatched its door and
futilely, it flapped its featherless wings.
Even in death, freedom denied;
a bird cursed to forever rot and sing.

---

Pedro Iniguez is a horror and science-fiction writer from Los Angeles, California. He is a Rhysling Award finalist and a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominee.

His fiction and poetry has appeared in Nightmare Magazine, Never Wake: An Anthology of Dream Horror, Shadows Over Main Street Volume 3, and Qualia Nous Vol. 2, among others.

His upcoming horror fiction collection, FEVER DREAMS OF A PARASITE, is slated for a 2025 release from publisher Raw Dog Screaming Press. He can be found online at www.pedroiniguezauthor.com.

---