PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The Cage at the porch, and inside a parrot, with feathers in yellow, in red and in green. My great aunt loved this creature which talked and sang. In the lonely hours, when there was no sound to be heard, not a soul in the street, nothing else but the sound of the parrot singing from his cage. He learned to talk from my great aunt. He could understand the stories she told. He learned to laugh at her jokes, and he learned words to cheer her up when she was feeling sad and blue. My great aunt would grab a cup of tea, and sit on her porch on her rocking chair, under a small lemon tree and spend evening after evening chatting with the parrot. She would talk about her day, or discuss politics and society. The parrot wouldn't interrupt, letting her speak, and always replying with the words of  wisdom that characterized him. Well if it wasn't a strange scene to watch, an old woman rocking back and forth, talking to a parrot who said things like “let it be”, “past is past”, “yes”, “no”, and “in God we trust”. He was a wise creature, because he had learned to be so from a wise woman. And so on she talked, feeling as if every seemingly random phrase out of the bird's beak was a message from heaven, and she smiled. My great aunt lived all alone, in her own small house, and so to exile the feelings of loneliness, she taught the parrot her name. “Sarah!” He'd scream, and my aunt would come rushing to him. I can perfectly remember the parrot when we went visiting. He was beautiful, big and colorful, and his eyes were full of life and wisdom. We would go to ring the bell, but before we even made it to the door, the parrot was already screaming, in the most educated manner a parrot is capable of screaming, “Sarah, you got visit!” And after a while, if my aunt wasn't yet coming, he'd insist, dragging the second a, “Saraaaaaaah… you got visit”. It was always funny to watch the parrot while we were waiting for my great aunt to show up and open the door. He was a proud parrot. On Sundays, when the bell of the church down the street filled the air with sound, the parrot sang the songs from church my aunt used to sing. She would sing along so they had their own choir, a private concert admired by a few passers-by marveling at the singing parrot. Patting his head, she said “Good boy” and fed him seeds or cookies or any treat she had in hand. The parrot closed his eyes in a happy expression and said as slowly as he could “Sarah” and it was easy to see they were the perfect company for each other.