toward the brightest, closest thing

A different kind of solitude today, because I’m alone, but the house panther bit me last night. I have to have my eyes closed for this, and I don’t trust him as far as I can throw Baby Yoda, which is to say not far at all, because what am I, a monster? (Still not a Star Wars person.)

Anyway.

I’m here as much as the alligator part of brain will allow me to be as it surveys the horizon for trouble.

Other trouble: feeling like I’m doing the course wrong, watching everyone else’s findings and new beliefs and doing the thing of outsourcing the validity of my creative process to someone who is not me.

Okay. So.

All that to say that I’m starting a little more stuck in the place where my feet are.

Deep breath.

Night again. I see dead birds in the dimness. They’re reflecting something in the iridescence of their feathers.

Pigeons, probably. They’re not flattened or rotting in the way that I’m used to seeing.

I pick one up, and it instantly gets to its feet in my hand.

I realize that the birds aren’t reflecting anything, they’re the lone source of light here.

The other birds start to rouse themselves too.

Were you resting?

The one in my hand stares at me, unblinking as birds do.

My little dinosaur friend.

The bird glows a little brighter now. I could use him like a flashlight if I wanted to.

I want to.

What else is here?

I’m hoping it’s like the ocean pulling back its tide to let me find what’s usually never not hidden.

I hold the bird like a glowing bauble. Just stones and pebbles on the beach.

Now I hear the low hum of the tide. We walk a little further and still nothing but sand.

Do you know where Moon Mom is tonight?

This is a bird, it cannot talk.

The other birds did not follow us. It’s just my flashlight and I.

I remember my worries from where my feet are, that I don’t know which voice to listen to, which path to take. Or I do , and I immediately shove the range of options in my own face to throw myself off the one I’ve chosen.

I squeeze the bird, I don’t know why. It squawks.

More light, though.

There is a road. An asphalt road. I half expect Wile E. to peer out from around a refrigerator door and the bird in my hand to meep meep.

We cross the road (why did the chicken ….)

I am the damn chicken.

The bird sits on my hand like it’s nesting.

I have no idea where we’re headed.

I reject the cacti and desert that show up because they’re echoes of Looney Tunes.

Let’s take a break.

I sit in the dirt with the bird nestled on my hand.

I’d like to speak to someone, or listen to someone.

I stretch it out. The moment I want it to be quick, I let it play out longer.

Presently, a man in a suit. He sits on his briefcase.

Who are you?

He files his nails.

You’re the last person I want to listen to.

I admit this in case I can move this along, skipping the part where I’m polite.

ARE YOU BORED?

No.

THEN WHY DO YOU WANT TO BE?

Why are you even here? Who needs a man in a suit in this place?

He laughs.

ACCOUNTING.

I half expect him to be the man with the curly white beard. Trickery. The one who claimed to be anyway.

The bird hops onto his shoulder (aye aye).

He leaps into an entrechat and they take off into the sky.

He left his briefcase behind. I can see it. Unsure of where the light source is.

They always leave so dramatically.

I want the briefcase to answer. It falls open.

A peanut. In its shell.

I haven’t eaten anything here yet. Not that I can remember.

I push the shell in with my fingernail. The skin of the nut inside is a deep red. I pop it into my mouth. It is smooth, earthy, fresh.

Oops. I hope I didn’t kill the thing that was supposed to converse with me.

I pocket the empty shell.

The briefcase stays open in its L shape.

I stretch it out some more.

See what else will happen.

I sit and wait.

I am here and listening.

The man in the suit and his flight friend descend. Hovering right above my head.

WELL.

Well what?

YOU DIDN’T THINK WE WERE JUST GOING TO LEAVE YOU HERE.

He grabs my wrist like the handle of a briefcase and shoots up into the stars.

My ears and my stomach. The air is thin. My head is going to pop. His grip doesn’t seem as sure as I’d like it to be.

I would be in fear, but this far up here, it feels like if he let me go I would swim in space for the rest of eternity.

I pause. I have a request.

He changes direction. Towards the brightest, closest thing. Moon Mom.

I wave. She waves.

This time, her light heats my face. I beam with reassurance. Moon Mom is my north star. If I lose my way, I can look up and find her there.