the dairy of an african sunbird

the diary of an african sunbird

 

 

 

after the man died i left home and purchased a train ticket

on the side of the country

i didn’t think had much to gift me except death

 

 

emptied his wares out the ship

found another man bound by the sea

took him home and told him tales

he weaved to the neighbourhood kids when i wasn’t paying attention

and had them call in the police

with the intention to ridicule me

 

 

after supper that night

i took the dagger

and went out to face my fears at the garden

 

 

i planted berries, i didn’t have patience

weeded them and came back in requesting my therapist be paged

i’m not okay, i said

something’s going on in my head

 

 

he watched me

then he watched the ruins of the side clock as he ticks beside me

we were two things always trying to deface each other

 

 

he needed to brainstorm on an exit route

told me he’d be back i shouldn’t go anywhere

i didn’t know he’d been writing

and so i believed him

sat down and wailed

while watching ridiculousness out beat mine on the tv

show that got cancelled for imitating my side art

 

 

people say i let him do this to me

he was writing to get out of poverty

you’re either watching this or reading it

and you still think i’m the toxic one

it’s how good in craft he is

 

he gets back in and leaves a present on the table

if you can remember,

i did not ask for anything

 

he says, there’s the bird you always wanted

maybe now you can seek things

 

 

i took the bird home

fed it

my brother and i told jokes of how we’d kill it and let ma prepare soup with it

only she wasn’t going to touch anything that holy

 

so i turned to the bird and i asked

what am i going to do with you?

 

and it looked on

not said

as saying would be poetic

 

but when i turned

it mumbled something through the walls

i’m not the problem here

you are

 

 

what a tough statement coming from a bird

we took on as our family pet

craving it the way a hunter craves animal shed

one more souvenir for the wild, west wind and

the trees who lean in to swap tales with each other

about the dreadful things we make them do

just to hide this secret

 

 

to be a hunter these days is no joke

thousands of birds sat on the grass one morning learning to beak

one asked, what are the chances we’re going to get taken by someone?

another answered, have you not seen these humans lately?

 

 

and they ate away all the beak

sitting there all seasons waiting for me or someone like you

to come along and drag on the wind

have them swing their heads affirmative and think,

it was worth being here after all

 

as we’d head back in with our shot guns

 to shoot at ourselves

and come out later

with a hole in the side of our chests

where we’re likely to put our bird nests

 

 

as a trained hunter

this imagery stems deep

like how is the predator at home

different from the one people meet on the street

 

 

here’s a meal you’d like to see me eat

only to realize i’d never eat anything my own hands did not kill

i’m wired that way

people say it’s temperament or something

the phenomenon to be great

to be a god in the size of a small pocket

is to wear a green sweater and attract all the other silly birds

 

 

i’m coming home with one tonight

fix the table and

i’ll meet you there.

the dairy of an african sunbird

the diary of an african sunbird

 

 

 

after the man died i left home and purchased a train ticket

on the side of the country

i didn’t think had much to gift me except death

 

 

emptied his wares out the ship

found another man bound by the sea

took him home and told him tales

he weaved to the neighbourhood kids when i wasn’t paying attention

and had them call in the police

with the intention to ridicule me

 

 

after supper that night

i took the dagger

and went out to face my fears at the garden

 

 

i planted berries, i didn’t have patience

weeded them and came back in requesting my therapist be paged

i’m not okay, i said

something’s going on in my head

 

 

he watched me

then he watched the ruins of the side clock as he ticks beside me

we were two things always trying to deface each other

 

 

he needed to brainstorm on an exit route

told me he’d be back i shouldn’t go anywhere

i didn’t know he’d been writing

and so i believed him

sat down and wailed

while watching ridiculousness out beat mine on the tv

show that got cancelled for imitating my side art

 

 

people say i let him do this to me

he was writing to get out of poverty

you’re either watching this or reading it

and you still think i’m the toxic one

it’s how good in craft he is

 

he gets back in and leaves a present on the table

if you can remember,

i did not ask for anything

 

he says, there’s the bird you always wanted

maybe now you can seek things

 

 

i took the bird home

fed it

my brother and i told jokes of how we’d kill it and let ma prepare soup with it

only she wasn’t going to touch anything that holy

 

so i turned to the bird and i asked

what am i going to do with you?

 

and it looked on

not said

as saying would be poetic

 

but when i turned

it mumbled something through the walls

i’m not the problem here

you are

 

 

what a tough statement coming from a bird

we took on as our family pet

craving it the way a hunter craves animal shed

one more souvenir for the wild, west wind and

the trees who lean in to swap tales with each other

about the dreadful things we make them do

just to hide this secret

 

 

to be a hunter these days is no joke

thousands of birds sat on the grass one morning learning to beak

one asked, what are the chances we’re going to get taken by someone?

another answered, have you not seen these humans lately?

 

 

and they ate away all the beak

sitting there all seasons waiting for me or someone like you

to come along and drag on the wind

have them swing their heads affirmative and think,

it was worth being here after all

 

as we’d head back in with our shot guns

 to shoot at ourselves

and come out later

with a hole in the side of our chests

where we’re likely to put our bird nests

 

 

as a trained hunter

this imagery stems deep

like how is the predator at home

different from the one people meet on the street

 

 

here’s a meal you’d like to see me eat

only to realize i’d never eat anything my own hands did not kill

i’m wired that way

people say it’s temperament or something

the phenomenon to be great

to be a god in the size of a small pocket

is to wear a green sweater and attract all the other silly birds

 

 

i’m coming home with one tonight

fix the table and

i’ll meet you there.

What are you looking for?