new american

Shadows of wings

of missile-clad, military aircraft

fly across the wet reflections

of my human

on the shower floor.

I sigh at what they’re there for.

Black box static

in rich american technicolor:

“deTHpiKable acts, no mercy”

segregates me

from my planet, Earth.

I mourn for Sylvester’s bird.

Shower drops fall

with tears of empathy for my brothers:

friend, partner, kinfolk, lover who

jumped like lab rats

from the guillotine.

I repent my brother’s sin.

My Soul cries out

in pain for humanity, the end near.

My terrified child, bound and gagged,

wriggles escape.

He stands and preaches.

I listen to his teachings:

“Break from shower

shadows! Flush the black box and dry away

your woes! Take from me your wings. To

them give new life.

Set our angel free;

Be strong, feel love, show mercy!”

October 14, 2001, NYC

#fly

George, my little, green Quaker Parrot “puppy,” is learning how to fly. Awkwardly. It makes me smile watching him try to muster the courage to push off his cage out into the great unknown dressed in familiar. I call to him and encourage him. “You can do it, George.”

I can tell that he wants to do it so much, just jump off and fly. George has moments of utter determination, and then in an instance, he’ll turn completely around, climb up on his branch, reassess, look at all the angles of the space: Where was I planning to land again? Is that big bald guy with glasses really going to help me if I flame out into a crash landing? Okay, okay, let’s go. I’ll try it one more time.

Again, back out George marches onto the top of his bird cage to the very corner of its edge and leans forward over, beginning to aim. He pulls his wings back and up. His beak is pointed out toward his destination somewhere beyond. A shiny green jet is ready to launch.

And I never know what will happen. I wait. I smile. I laugh. I say, “I know you can do it, George.” Whatever happens, wherever he goes, I will be there to catch him if he falls.

God is a lot like that to me.

Love,

Chad

It is time

It is time to untangle your tongue,

and let the muzzle drop with a thud;

time to speak your truth, tell the narrative,

one both as unique as it is universal.

It is time to bear witness to you, all of you,

to your own singular experience of this,

the imagining, the awareness, the breathing,

this thing we call life, the being we cherish.