diner birds – poetsarah – Medium

turn my back on the world
to face the river
hide the self
behind an umbrella
stay lost in clothes
that have lost their color
a grey-blackness
once fierce
the black outfit
the common place declaration of rebellion
now a faded act of camouflage
part eraser part blending

looking into the sky
the sound of birds has craned all necks
nothing noticeable
for me to join the herd
there we all are
looking up at the birds

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and i am thinking of you

and a cafe
found after much searching
like some biblical thing

everywhere we went was full
no room here
move along girls
almost like we were being propelled to that diner
the one with the two huge birds outside

on our drive
we had seen buzzards
those carrion seeking death-circlers
but these two were different
swans or geese
they stood
over their puddle of survival
and were happy

those crazy birds

somehow happy

were they lost?
did they have bird dementia?
because there they were
in a parking lot
in a city
grateful for the puddle
trapped in the green
between the diner and the street
when they could have been anywhere

jesus christ
there are golf courses
there are parks…
nature preserves
where the birds could be
but there they were
in a small city
at a diner
with you
and me

i kept wanting to hold your hand
to reach over the table
past the napkin with the bacon on it saved for my dog
dodging the creamer
navigating the sugar
but i kept pulling back
you were straight
we were friends
i should have listened to the birds
they knew something i had blocked out

i’m sure you would have slapped me
i’m just as sure that i would have had no clue why
the absurdity makes me punch walls and cry

i could say i loved you in another life
and that i keep loving you
over and over
every time we meet

that would be romantic
some fantastic reincarnation love story
where a happy ending would be quite the feat
but that is not what happened
i did love you
in another life
before that life was split in two
and i love you now
i love you still
i know i always will
despite the trauma-memory-shredder
and my pre-existing asshole tendencies
but if i were you
those words would lack a certain authenticity
how can any of this be true
is exactly what i would think
if i were you
repressed memory is not possible
something suddenly remembered
is a therapist planting memories
altering lived history
not an adult woman
with a hazy past twenty years of memory
playing detective through my own mental health crisis

it came in layers once i moved down here
trigger after trigger and finally
and then another
and another
until this
writing a poem about some birds seen once
outside a cafe
quiet birds that could not speak
wishing i could reach back and undo

i will always love you

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