the dog and the bird

sitting on the grass in the shadow of the dome I spy a bird over the shoulder of my friend. the bird is tired and beautiful; limping down the pavement, colourful plumage like the parrots from the tropics. the bird is out of place amidst the lime bikes and pigeons by the pond. the bird is trying to fly but can hardly leave the ground. a well-groomed white dog barks from a leash preventing a chase in the direction of the bird. an owner holds the line in one hand and a coffee in the other, focus stolen by another conversation. holding on tight enough he keeps the dog in order out of reflex rather than concern. he doesn't see the bird trying to fly away with broken wings.

my friend and I drink chai from cups we can't recycle, exchanging dreams and nightmares spun from time we've spent apart. with enough distance we can look at where we've been and laugh. she shows me her new tattoo (freshly inked this morning): two doves flying up her calf. the drawing is beautiful and I forget to ask if it hurts.