Jill Baer
Birds l, or Childhood
Can we play pretend?
Good, let’s pretend we’re birds.
Let’s pretend we soar over the city
We glide high over our problems.
We can sit on power lines and not be shocked.
I wonder if birds think about death.
Do birds know life has an end?
I hope they don’t.
Let’s say they don’t, okay?
What do you mean why?
It’s my game! I get to make the rules.
I get to decide where I fly.
It’s my game. I make the rules.
So let’s play birds.
Birds don’t cry, okay?
They can’t. Birds are always happy.
Because why wouldn’t you be happy? You’re a bird!
Nothing bad happens to birds. What? Fine, let’s “pretend” nothing bad happens.
You’re no fun to play with.
Because when I play pretend
I make the rules.
Birds ll, or Growing Up
We’re far too old to play pretend now
But dad bought us a bird, just like we had hoped
We keep him in a cage on the mantle
Maybe I was wrong when I was younger
Back when I still believed in things like magic
And getting better
Because this bird isn’t happy
He’s not even free
We didn’t even name him
We didn’t cry when we buried him
I used to think birds were like the angels mama spoke about
But I don’t think that anymore
Because the preacher told me not to
Do I still believe in birds?