“Look at either end,” said the big friend.
“It once had the freedom of the sky,” I said, bending down, touching first the wings, my fingers going inside the arch of the wing, it was downy and soft, like the warm undebelly of a content puppy. I then undid the fastening of my coat, opened my jacket, and took even this little nothing up to my heart.
Feathers were falling out of its body like a pillow used since the day I was born, worked over until the stuffing came out.
“Is,” asked my big friend, “everything always so important to you, everyone, even birds?”
At that point I was flying with my little friend of a few moments to the great island, prostrate in the sea.
“I said,” he said again, “Is…”
We landed, the two of us, the shoreline broke with waves of green, writhing with seaweed, crabs, and other fair foods. I could feel my little friend’s heart slow, he could feel the air, safety, wed, and free.
“Everything,” I replied, setting my little friend down.
No comments:
Post a Comment