i thought i heard you, screaming in pain, deliberating shedding your feathers to fake a trail for the cat or hawk after your soul. one by one the gray, black and white feathers dropped away from your shaking body, each feather representing minutes, hours, days of your spirit, each feather will its own unique story. like that time when you were learning to fly. all your siblings jumped from the mother nest and soared and glided in the wind. you, shivering in your newly forming ashy wings, so afraid of the unknow, not having a clue what ‘flying’ meant. you heard your mother swaking in the distant and didn’t want to be pushed out of the treetop home, so you leaped and spread your wings and caught the wind. you gasped as you thought you would plumet, but you rode the gales of breeze and flapped and rose high above the tops of trees and buildings.
the little boy threw rocks at you while his mother wasn’t looking and injured your left wing. flying was history and flapping was no longer a painless act. cats began to smell your weakness and hawks preyed upon young hurt things. you would sense them tracking you, soundlessly creeping behind trees, making you paranoid, making your nervous for life, of death. the cat hissed and lunged and you let go of a feather. you’d hope that the cat would lick the feather like a popsicle, satisfiying the need to prey, but the appetite just build and began to take a form of a lion, a beast with fangs, the cat was no longer a mere cat, but a raging ravenous feline. her teeth bore and hissed as the pigeon played mind games. she wished to feed, to feast and this pathetic pigeon was desperately molting.
my tire was flat. we caught a bus back and walked the bikes back to Walmart where I could pick up new tubes and this floresant green gel that coats the inside of your tires. i picked up a black pigeon feather. i found another and another and another. every twenty feet or so i picked up beautiful bird feathers.
the pigeon desperate for life, hobbled through the grass, hiding behind a tree stump, a shrub, but the cat was relentless. eventually the cat had its feast, and i took home the seven pigeon feathers and made a mobile for my car. the sacrifice was made with the life of a pigeon, and i am honoring its bird life with this letter.