There is a
screaming
screeching pain
that is so raw.
It's like a
mouse caught in
a glue trap.
It must be locked
away for no one
to see or handle.

And sometimes
on moonless nights
when no one is
around, and the
owls have killed
their prey, and the
teardrops have been
bottled and sold on
the black market,
you may be tempted
to take that pain out,
like a slice of pie,
and taste it.
Be careful.
It may have
fermented and
developed a mind of
its own.

The soul is forgiveness because it knows forgiveness. A bird tried to build her nest under the outdoor patio light fixtures, but I forbade it. Somehow, her persistence was canny, while mine was firm. Eventually, she gave up. I haven’t seen her in days; I guess she hated me during those moments. But I believe in safety first, above all else.

While I was there, I observed a lot. The ground birds stick it out with each other, while the wild monkeys never seem interested in whatever they do. They eat apples, mangoes, and leaves, minding their own business. I guess I wasn’t minding mine.

At 6:30 PM on the dock, the rooster would crow, jump the guard wall, and go up the tall tree for the night. He waits for the two hens, and if they take too long to join him, he disciplines them when they finally reach the branches. My observation is that these ground birds act like humans.

Birds hold symbolic significance in diverse cultures. If you don’t adhere to the rules, there are consequences. To watch and observe others’ behavior, to feel the pain of others, is to know the poet who is composing. We never shy away from grief and torment, which others provoke before our eyes. We smell the coffee, but we never taste it. No matter how unpleasant, enjoy your Sunday, my poetic friends."