Tuesday, July 30, 2019

Close Quarters (One)















Art: Mark Collins
https://markcollinsfineart.com/


Things were fine in the nest cavity for awhile.
Specifically, when they were still in their eggs.
But baby birds—these being Northern flickers
of the woodpecker family—grow fast and trees
don’t expand to accommodate. “Move over!”
“You move over!” “Where do you think I can
move to, exactly?” They found some respite
when the weather was good, poking their heads
out from the hole in the swaying pine.  But, oh,
how they wanted to learn to fly so that they
could get away from each other.

“Good riddance!”

~

“Are we there yet?!”

Whenever we made trips to visit the grandparents
my sisters and I would be confined for hours in
the back of Bessie, our white Buick station wagon.
Proximity did not make us closer. No. Quite
the opposite. Space was a limited resource worth
fighting for. “Move over!” “You move over!”
“Where do you think I can move to? Mom!”
Although we didn’t choose to be together, we did,
over time, share in a common antidotal strategy:

“I need to pee!”

~

Find yourself an adult living in a metropolitan
environment and you’ll find yourself using public
transportation. Metro. Bus. It doesn’t matter.
There is a sardine can—that you paid for and rushed
to board—awaiting you and hundreds of strangers
adorned with summer body odor and winter colds.
“Excuse me, could you please move over?” “Huh? No.”
“Where do you think I can move to, exactly?” Ding.
Ding. The door opens wide and it’s every man, woman,
and dragged-by-the-wrist child fleeing, thinking
some form of:

“Oh, thank God for liberty and independence!”

~

It’s not really that funny.
There are seven billion people riding a finite
planet, all of them longing for intimacy.


© 2019/Jamie K. Reaser
From a book collaboration in progress with artist Mark Collins

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