The idol of stone called collect from a tourist destination.
“You never call or write anymore.
Can you send me some of those books?”
Mother bird eating and pre-digesting
then throwing up to feed the fledglings.
The young bird would pace across the ledge
only a few times then quickly depart.
Outside children would squeal
while the older boys played baseball.
“They don’t carry them in the stores here.
The ones from your sister’s bookshop.
This place reminds me of the native drums of my youth.
I let it all pass through me.
I didn’t realize what was happening.”
The winged bird on the other end of the line
reminded the idol
that temples rise and fall.
She was no random city bird.
“Never again,” she said,
as she sat in the book-cluttered living room.
“Pull yourself down into the smallest size you can get.
Then hunker down,” she said.
She hung up the phone.
She tossed an unread newspaper into the recycling bin,
then she turned to behold the spectacular blackness of space.