A spectator as your life moves on

I inhale and grow, and grow,
Taller. You drove me into the carpark, where the ceiling
Hangs low. I cannot see the sky,
Save the tiny strip where storeys connect. This
Is a tissue-box. I am looking from inside the box.
Bird-watching.

Nowhere else would I find the ceiling so low. I tip toed.
You said to stay in here. I tethered and strained. So close.
You said: Stay here. I can hear your children
Screaming outside. From the sky, or the world that
Pours light in. I peeped out
And saw them.

… I hear someone crying, again. Half-hearted
And thin and loud. I breathe in and try to
Expand. The ceiling looms down. I breathe in and
Hold my breath. I think of the quiet chirping
Of the sparrow in the box from my childhood. You came home
Dropping the surprise into my hand:

A shivering brown sparrow that had wet the paper box. A
White hand of tissue fluttering on a table
Elsewhere. I used to make TV screens from
Empty tissue boxes, the story sliding by
On paper strips. I stayed where you told me to. Premier seating.
I stayed and watched your new life turning outside.

The noise of the moving world echoes
Within the walls and refuse to leave. Muffled sounds,
Air in balloons. Grow bigger, bend the walls,
Bigger, bigger, taller! I crane towards the slit
Till my neck cramps. You turned around and, addressing the
TV screen: Stay there.

Inhale, inhale, inhale. My head hurts.
They still keep crying and I cannot turn the volume down.
I keep growing, growing, growing, balloon,
Buzzing, (oxygen!), my head, finally,
Brushed the ceiling, pushed it, firmly, push, push,
And it

Breaks

And I stare

Down at the world, whispy between the clouds. You
At my feet,                                                the exploded screen.
staring at the broken box,          
You, craning up to me,                               saying something. I cannot hear you.         

I cannot hear the wailing. Here,                        it is dizzying,          and
Noiseless. Brown sparrows fly
Before my eyes.