1 minute read
The Gibbon by Jared Campbell
from Now We Are Five
The Gibbon
First swinging back and forth as lazy as a metronome, then hand by hand along the branch, a moment lost then found again, a shadow in the trees, as quick, as light, he swings, he flips, he flings himself across pure empty space, conspicuous to him alone the aim, the branch at hand now passed turns in a moment, turns without a pause, tracing a path that only he can see, or can’t ahead of time, can only trace a moment at a time - he flips, he sits.
Perfectly still, as if to contemplate the greater apes, aloof from such displays, grounded in their greater substance, greater strength, and lesser flexibility, not noticing the space that bridges branches, or seeing but unwilling to let go.
He sits. He wails - a piercing, rising cry. The clear and rising cries at first sustained, suddenly fractured, broken into chirrups. He screams at nothing. Then his bride joins in and now they cry together, faithful, loud.
Jared Campbell
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