Who Holds Birds

WHO HOLDS BIRDS

Jevin Morris

You said: “Who’s ever held a bird in their hand other than those who’ve known the ways to kill the bird?” I know:

The people stopped in the middle of a sidewalk just to honk back at a geese arrow in the cold, watching their breath rise to meet them.

The old men in ponds whose best friends are mallards and handfuls of bread.

The starving magicians who’ve held birds like secrets, with one last chance to wow the audience.

The falconers who know they can’t take the gloves off when they clock out and head home.

The oak trees that hold up robin eggs to the light, checking them for watermarks, or to offer them to some abstract bird god.

The couples hoping for eggs, seated on their last piece of pumice, holding hands and praying for it to hatch.

The abstract bird god, shaping each perfect amber egg with a ceramic duty, eternally at the wheel, perfecting their craft.

The guy selling insurance with the emu in the ads, hoping that today will be the day he finally convinces someone of their own mortality.

The people surviving others, their hands reaching the clouds, waiting for a dove they’ve never seen to flap down and rest.

Those with an open birdcage, more birdseed each birdday to give away.

Me, thinking this bird poem is the best thing I’ve come up with, hoping you’re collecting my bits of eggshell to piece back together.

You, thinking the bird thing got out of hand near the fifth stanza, politely gathering the shards of shell to return them to me and wash the yolk off your hands afterward.

And other birds when they hold hands: waffle style, not pancake, not shying away from the intimacy, not bristling at the challenge. Feeding their youth together.

ATTENTION PORTLAND STATE WRITERS, ARTISTS AND THINKERS!

Don’t forget to follow us on Facebook and Instagram. We’ll be posting work from the most recent submission period, interesting literary events around Portland, and updates on what Pathos is up to.

@PATHOSLITMAG PATHOSLITMAG.COM