Encounters with Birds

One

A bird lay
under a bush,
and I stepped too close.
It hopped a few feet,
then rested. It's wing
was broken, or something.
We stared at each other,
and it hopped away.
I understood pain, and
survival.

Two

Working for the old man,
I spotted a mother turkey
with twenty chicks.
She strutted proudly and
with authority, and despite
standing on a cement driveway,
completely outside
the boundaries and comforts
of home, she stood tall and
showed no waver of confidence
in front of her young.
I called out to her, and upon
turning her head, I recognized
the importance of family, and of
initiative.

I understand death now.
I understand pain.

The Most Important Thing

What do you do
when you're alone,
in a sinking ocean,
with weights tied
to your ankles?

When there are
too many ears(eyes)
and none at all?

(If a Friend walks
by after you've
already sunk below
the surface,
will he ever know
you were in distress?)

On the Road

I am

lost.
It's dark out,
I don't know
where

Iam.Iam.Iam.

I don't know
who

I am(have been)
displaced.



Hello?

Hello?

Peggy's Alright...The Baby's Dead.

Weeding a garden,
I pulled at a clump
of dirt and found
in my hand the remains
of a baby bird.

I paused, and lay the bird
out in my palm. Bits of mud
clung to the baby's feathers,
talons curled underneath its
frail body as its head fell
limp between my fingers.

I mourned the bird's short life
for a moment, then glanced
to each side, and when no one
was looking and against orders,
I returned the broken body to
the ground, covering it with
a patch of sod, ensuring it would
no longer be disturbed.

567-555-4561 or Lobster Party

I awoke to a
lobster infestation.
Seemingly unaware of
the significant
lack of hydration,
they scampered across
the floor, snapping
their claws and hissing
their horrible lobster
hiss.

I shouted at the
invading crustaceans,
"Get out of here, you slimy
black bubble munching
invertebrates, or
I'll boil you up til
you're red!" But the
monsters just snapped their
claws and tapped their toes and
danced

their lobster dances.
That's when I realized that
I had stumbled upon a
lobster party, in
the middle of my
living room, one of
great succes, I might
add, and I'll be
damned if I didn't
take off my shoes and join
in.

What are we, if not
memories? Entire lives
spent in the past, who
are we to call ourselves
more than such? Without
memories, have we identity?
One can argue, we are as
we are seen in the eyes of
our family and friends.

But are we not memories
in their minds? All of our
actions and words, our appearance
and feelings, interpreted into
memories, directly recallable
only as long as the lives of those
who experienced Us.

Do we have presence outside
of the minds of those of ours?
One could argue that our presence
exists in the physical Now, but
is it too much to consider the Now
as just the most tangible memory we have?
What is Now, but an infinitesimal point
on Time's map?

By definition, a point has no physical
value, only serving as an eternally small
reference location for a given value.
Therefore, an inability to measure the
value of the Now leaves us with no measurable
concept of physical presence. Now is Now,
and we are our past. Past Nows can be measured
in quantity, so we can measure our worth in
past presences, or memories.

We are who we are. I suppose.

Where have I gone?