Standing in my doorway, a bird.
Little blue brown nondescript nothing
of a bird. We regard each other, neither
terribly impressed with what she sees.
There are no birds here, so I must be imagining things.
Here at ground level, nothing is the rule.
The rule is nothing. Just me, but this fact
does not seem to make me any more impressive to the bird.
She (since I am imagining her,
I imagine her female) tilts her head to get a better look
at me, at my own questionable existence.
There is about to be a question,
and I may not like the answer.
Who are you to doubt me but not yourself?
She asks, impertinent little thing with wings.
Maybe my mind put you here, she suggests,
And I think well, birdbrain, if that’s the case,
Couldn’t you have done a bit better?
Little bird head jerks, tilts in the other direction.
Can birds sneer? This one might.
(No surprise, since she is my figment, after all.)
But I press the point. If we were somewhere warmer,
I suggest, the scenery – and you – would be much improved,
You plain little thing. (I am about to win the argument.)
Or not, as it turns out, because, she says,
Real or no, I am still a bird, and you
have no wings. And with that, she flies away
and is gone. Leaving me, wingless, alone.
(Written in November, 2015 as part of the Writers Digest November PAD Challenge)
(Posted today as my Day 1 entry in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge)
(Sparrow photo by Rob Mitchell via Flickr.)