the birds are flying high this season.
i say, let them, let them.
maybe they tremble at night and struggle to fly at the best of times, like the rest of us.
or maybe they lead by example.
maybe the one leading the flock almost touching the sun
is the one that feels the lowest inside
their beak overflowing with dirt, earth, leaves, suffocating
smothering them from their insides
out
even though they’re touching the sky.
maybe, maybe.
life can be funny sometimes.
the birds are flying high this season.
i say, let them. let them.
i saw a kid attack a flock of pigeons today.
he kicked at them, tried to squash one in his fat hands.
the bird was squirming away, screeching, feathers everywhere.
the kid straining against it, his tongue poking through his lips and teeth
like a worm wiggling through an open beak.
the kid’s mother called his name and he left those poor birds alone.
the feathers blew gently in the wind.
i don’t know what happened to the bird.
but the birds are flying high this season.
i say, let them, let them.
maybe they’ll come back.
