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?