Follow Through

I’ve got a small bird without a name now. I’ve called it many things, but it never comes. I do not know what kind of bird it is. I do not know what it thinks of me. It does not sleep at my side or land on my finger. Sometimes, it perches on a nearby windowsill. Other times, it circles a foot or so above the crown of my head. I have a broken baby strapped into an uncomfortable-looking device and my nameless bird ignores the baby. Care, in this family, is distributed at cross angles. It is like replacing a tire. We took a trip to the Grand Canyon and my small bird vanished for a night. Our broken baby did not notice either the absent bird or the majestic chasm laid out before it like an autopsy. You encouraged the broken baby to look but this hurt its neck so I took it and the contraption it was strapped to and held it close to me at the picnic table. I asked you to call the bird and you tried name after name until the sun set but nothing changed. The baby made spit. You grew hoarse from yelling names into the Grand Canyon. When the small bird finally returned it was carrying a tiny fish in its mouth. Not a minnow, but a tiny fully-grown fish, struggling for its life.

<<Previous                  Next>>

Back to Table of Contents