Steven Schroeder | no wonder
Soyez comme l'oiseau, posé pour un instant
Sur des rameaux trop frêles,
Qui sent ployer la branche et qui chante pourtant,
Sachant qu'il a des ailes!
-Victor Hugo, “Dans l'église de ***”
No wonder the secret of flight
slips the minds of pigeons
grazing on the Midway
after two days of wind and rain
when they scatter on foot to avoid passersby
who cannot fly and always see without taking notice.
I saw a rainbow around the full moon
last night and had no idea
how to move until a passing cloud
broke the spell. Any pigeon could tell you
my trichromatic brain couldn't see the half ot it.
Still, it stopped me in my tracks.
Imagine the universe of rainbows
that must explode in eyes that parse
the world around five primaries. Robins
keep their wits about them but wait
until the last moment to fly.
They know the stories we tell our children
about how dinosaurs became extinct
and we were fruitful and multiplied and
filled the void left by their absence with our
ponderous brains. They sit right outside
the window and sing because they know
they did no such thing.
They grew small and learned
to fall, to trust the wind,
to let the music carry them.
They sing the colors we cannot see
and wait for the moment when,
free at last, we feel
the bough give way
but are not afraid,
because we know
we have wings.
Chicago
29 May 2021
