Paloma in the City: NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 22

She pieces the morning together,
this pigeon; I hear her beak
clack against the sidewalk
outside the city college
each time she tries to burst
a brittle plastic wrapper that holds
a few small crumbs of something.
I double back and offer her
a bit of crust from the leftover pizza
that I’ve brought for lunch.
And I wonder a few things:
If anyone saw, if I’m now part of
the Urban Pigeon Feeding Problem,
if I’m bound to get a ticket,
and also if it was best
to fill her stomach with dough.
But I gave her something—
what I had—and she seems
glad to take it, shaking free
one bite at a time as people
weave around her work.
The next day, I’ll recall
a drink I once had in Mexico:
tequila and grapefruit soda.
Paloma.

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Earthbound (for NaPoWriMo, Day 22)

Weren’t we supposed to be
living on Venus by now, or the moon—
everything enclosed, climate-controlled,
rational? Wasn’t I supposed to be wearing
something in neoprene, high-collared
(though tight across my breasts), having
scientific, yet sex-infused discussions
with men? (We would address each other
as “Dr. So-and-So,” reverting to first names
in moments of passion, high tension. What
happened to that plan?) Where are the pellets,
the ones I was supposed to eat? The capsules,
I mean, to replace all that ridiculous food.
So many resources, for something so
temporary. So much time spent managing
something so crazy, so untenable, this planet.
Earth. We should have known it would
never let us leave. Even now—with
tsunamis, superstorms, melting ice,
all the rest—even now, it sends up
its tender shoots, waves its
cloud arms, says,
“Stay. Stay.

 

 

NaPoWriMo, Day 22 prompt: Write an Earth Day poem.

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