31 0 0
|
A few years back, I worked with this guy, by the name of Bob, at the same airline I work for now. He was an older fella—I figure he was in his sixties—so he probably had a good twenty-five or thirty years on me. He was one of those types that…
|
2111
|
This is the spring of my inglorious trifecta: a bunion, arthritis, varicose veins. Compared to my daughter’s, my feet are stumps. Hers flex and curve, dart, propel her up the stairs, through the sprinkler, over the prickly lettuce …
|
173451
|
I’ve never liked birds. There’s something smug about the way they look at us, we prisoners of gravity, something self-congratulatory in their songs. Maybe I’m just projecting my own feelings about being stuck on the ground, attributing attitudes t
|
2454
|
"... a gaggle of scientists decided to classify the Bernstein bird a “Purplex Complex,” as it could sing more than one tune., in perfect pitch. But not only: it could sing more than one tune at a time, generally at least three tunes, which made neighb
|
126810
|
On the day they were born, the old mother eagle named her chicks Faith, Hope, and Charity.
|
549123
|
He turned the pages for me, reverently, slowly--pointing out other birds, repeating their names, sounds strange and mysterious to my ears, went on, bird after bird, and when I reached my stop and rose to leave, he was still whispering their names like a c
|
113040
|
Sitting at an outside table at the Bassett Café
on West Broadway, I remember, in the background
always the Twin Towers behind me
in the photographs from that time
And the sparrows in New York, bolder than anywhere
working over the scrap
|
267289
|
Shared course: the rivers and the streams
|
1472104
|
They live a simple life..two solitudes by lamplight.
|
155852
|
My mate and I are owned, but have freedom to take to the endless sky.
|
106216
|
Twisting and twirling, nearing velocity terminal, the wishbones in their chests rise and fall with the cadence of different bird songs calling. As they whistle down each is distinctively screaming.
|
111021
|
We all thought, Birds! We all thought, Nests inside the chimney!
|
17501
|
I'm at the edge of the garden in a white nightgown embroidered with lilies. This keeps happening without my permission; a sleepwalk, a run-away. The scent of my best perfume kneels beside me here. I sift through the soil where I…
|
26622
|
my hand is closing;grasping insubstantialair particles thatescape into my fleshypink lungs. imaginary magpies take flight fromthe runways of my whorled greymind. their wingbeats soundlike dust at the morning's end;like finality…
|
3411
|
You found the old general rocking in his library, half asleep in the dog days of what he calls his retirement, a corncob pipe clenched between his withered graying lips. Rifle barrel leveled at your chest.…
|
