Mrs. Pileated Takes a Moment

December 29th, 2007, 9pm

Worry herself, that’s what she does. Tapping the top of the barbecue lid hoping it will open, hoping there are bits of flesh worth carrying back to the hollow nest where dependents wait. Wait. Wait— Shouldn’t she be looking somewhere else for what she needs? She won’t find it there in the steel case of charred remains. She could tap, tap, tap all day, nothing would come of it. Shouldn’t she be pecking at some earthy tomb? Shouldn’t she be grubbing around? Why couldn’t she be soaring, showing off her red cap like the scarlet letter she wishes it would become? Shouldn’t she stop staring in windows that can never be forests?

Shu said thanks.

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Deb Stone

The truest thing that's ever been said about me was by my fourth grade teacher, "She talks too much and wanders about, out of her seat." Though I've wrestled various plots and characters in my life, I never get too far off that spine. You can find me at Twitter/Facebook/Instagram at iwritedeb.

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