What to do when a bird gets stuck in your house


words words
3 September 2008, 3:23 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , ,
1
Trying to remember what it feels like to breathe within numbered space – I did it for so so long, but now this process feels like an old pair of hiking boots, once familiar, once a part of my very core – but now foreign, stiff, covered in mud from other lands. I am not generally nostalgic; time can do what it damn well wants. And yet here we are, this seven-year older woman with scars, squinting at the girl with purple dreadlocks and a screaming can of paint in her hands, ready to rent the universe, not afraid to bleed.
2
Uncharacteristically mid-morning. The Broadway sun laying an unflattering hand on those still shivering from night. I plot the upcoming interview, weaving words like “social justice” and “equity” as I step around the man shouting his story of being a soldier in Iraq, coming home, being shat upon until his mind broke in two. Around the native-looking woman picking up glass shards, her instrument broken into pieces of light and scattered across the path. Such hypocrisy, this – in my smart pants and mouthing sinker lines – scared to the teeth to look up, too bullheaded to admit to such helplessness.
3
The heat is creeping into my brain and making this grant proposal exceedingly difficult to concentrate on. When I describe myself to someone else, it seems so glamorous; I help develop programs that really will save the lives of starving children in Africa; I am part of the effort to curb HIV and malaria and a host of vowel-filled monster diseases that don’t seem to ravage rich countries. But lately each day unfolds like I was a stockbroker – egos and nastiness and growing pains I’m not patient enough to live through. And broken air conditioners, and unseasonably warm September afternoons.
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