Wednesday, January 8, 2014


We break bread with each other and once we're done we break the bone of the bird we just tasted. We'll digest her soon, but now we must make a wish. What did you wish for? I'm guessing new socks or a functioning heart. If I had gotten the bigger piece, I would have wished for wings or at least the shape of wings to be ingrained in my brain.

Sometimes all it takes to fly is a good memory. Sometimes all it takes to fall is a bone to break.

Who said fowls can predict the future? Maybe the prophets of old figured out a code written within the bones. We are blind, but at least we can believe.

I want to start strapping parachutes on each little bird. Let them fly as fast and as far as they'd like until they reach the limits of the sky. Not to worry, though, for the descent back to the nest where you hatched will be blessed. Unless the chest strap fails. Unless what's close to your heart doesn't open. If your heart doesn't open, you will crash and lose the nest. Your hollow bones will snap into two pieces. Who gets the bigger half? Who will rise from your fall?

When will I get my lucky break?

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