One man looks at a dying bird sees nothing but unanswered pain...
another sees that same bird, feels the glory, feels something smiling
through – “The Thin Red Line” – Terrence Malick
No, don’t let your daughter ride her pink trike
the short dirt trail from ranger’s cabin to nature center.
Skulls of pika, marten pelts, sparrow bones
line the shelves. The brown bear, so thin this time of year,
hidden in the brush. The thick arms of a grizzly
can crush a child even before gigantic jaws unhinge.
I warned my son not to speak
to those he’d never met, to avoid their tattooed forearms,
firm and furred, their too-earnest eyes
simply seeking kindness. Why do we fear
what we don’t know, but do not fear
those who smile in our own home?
The favorite, grandfather might say.
Monsters prowl not only beyond the edges of our maps.
They might have arthritic fingers curved
like bear claws, breathe whiskey through buck-teeth,
sit at your Thanksgiving table. Canadian Club, cold turkey,
gravy, pooling and cooling on the plate.
silly child, nothing’s lost, nothing really happened
Nothing. Some strange crescendos. Fully clothed
and pressed against you. Tells you harder. Makes a face, red
with what you are yet to know.
be a good girl, do what you’re told, make the bed
clear the table, take a bath, be quiet, close the door,
don’t tell
Once, you saw something smiling through. Now you see an old man,
a sharp shoulder. Now bones the weight of a sparrow’s. Now you see
the dying bird.
