by Carol Mikoda
If I were to write down a memoir
of white shoes, it would sound a lot
like horses’ hooves on the pavement
carrying an Amish family
to market, or the folding of large
paper bags into small packets.
You might think it’s historical fiction
but everything I write is a true fact.
Even when I describe
the man as a tower of birds,
I have checked out every detail.
The birds include extinct
species, like carrier pigeons,
along with the endangered,
like the pale-headed brush finches,
and the plentiful, like cowbirds,
for example. Like goats,
they will perch in a fruited tree
and eat until every pear
or peach or paw paw is gone.
Don’t think me heartless to tell
of it in this way. I weep
often in the middle of the night,
remembering in what way
he gently wipes the birds
from his sleeves or the witty remarks
he makes while punning about
“birds of a feather.” It is pointless
for me to say more at this point,
since I see you are stacking up
your books to leave, but don’t
hesitate to reach out
if a dove comes close enough
to alight on your hand.
Carol Mikoda (she, her), living near Seneca Lake, is the author of three chapbooks, While You Wait, Wind and Water, Leaf and Lake, and Outside of Time. Her work appears in many literary journals, and her prose poem, “Jesus at the Pub,” was nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize in 2024.