Body Horror: Biopsy
I step through a glass door to the grassy courtyard
outside the clinic waiting room. The sun shines medium.
On the ground, an iridescent Grackle faces away,
and I move closer and closer. If I were a hunter, the kill
shot would be easy. She must see something against
the far brick wall that pins her attention, maybe
the bent tree limbs’ shadow swaying in the window.
I know I’ve only been this close to a wild bird
once before when, during census, we caught all
we could in a mammoth net and banded them
before setting free to flight. I held one then, head
pinned between index and middle finger. She
stayed so still, I thought dead for sure. But the leader said
they do that instinctively, go limp in human hands.
When we released all at once, hundreds smeared the clouds
like dark ink on white sheets in a language unfamiliar. This
bird is the distance from you to me. I reach down to stroke glistening
wings and as she turns, I see the hollow where her eye should be.
