jolie laide

jolie laide

I started this when I lived in Brooklyn and struggled for grace in a city that grants moments of beauty and ugliness breathtakingly close to one another. Now I live in a place where things are a different kind of ugly and the beauty is pedestrian. I struggle with that.

1.27.2007

A pigeon has fallen out of the nest above my door. When I leave the house in the morning, I notice a rustling near the lavender and rosemary pots at the top of the high stoop. The grounded bird is trying to secret himself, wobbling backwards into the winter bare sprigs. It’s clear that he is ill, his movements are rusty, his feathers are disarrayed. He will die soon, he is shitting out his last hours here on my steps, dragging his own feet through white and green smears. I look down at his greasy head, his red eyes, and I think for a minute to put him out of his discomfort. But no, I can’t be bothered, I don't feel empathy, I feel a vague, edgy disgust. I’ll leave him there for the cold to take him, or a neighborhood cat. When I return home at night, he is gone.

1 Comments:

Blogger cherrydragonut said...

"The grounded bird was trying to secret himself...."

I was hiding and the idiot came a pointing, "She's here! She's here!"

"I feel a vague, edgy disgust." Birds have pretty feathers and wings by sometimes in a flock or by himself upclose they can be repelling like a whole other species.

I'm glad you came home to a clean front door. It's not your responsibility to put him out of his misery any more than it is to make him happy, if that were possible. It's a choice. And WE should only give as long as it feels good or else we charge them for it later. You first Ttractor, bird second.

12:44 PM  

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