Saturday, November 3, 2018

Black Birds

Dawn in a different state - warm, humid and fragrant. I am watching the sky move through lightening shades of purple, sipping a coffee, pacing outside my hotel. There is no one else around.

Strolling into a grove of pines, listening to the strange sounds of new birds. Grackles taking broad hops in the parking lot, the males with their long showy black tails. I'm wearing a shirt and tie, suit pants and dress shoes. Forgetting myself, I step in something slick and slide.

Later, I am standing in a room with a dead man and his family. My hands are folded respectfully, and I am looking at the hard-caked yellow mud on my black shoes.

Some of the family yell at me, some ask questions, accept tissues and plastic cups of water. Some hug me or glare with hate while others thank me. In the end, it's just the two of us remaining.

He's very quiet, still wearing the plastic airway the paramedics installed. I'm thinking about those long-tailed grackles, how they look kind of regal and pitiful at the same time.

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