She was a Wire Bird

She had wide, used eyes, like those of an abused child, that awoke the predator in me.

Snow delighted her. I hated the cold. She waded naked into a black-water creek in twenty degrees, once, shortly after we met. I stood on the ice and watched her madness sink beneath the iron-flashing surface.

She went to Cornell for a semester, she told me. Arched her back beneath a nearby waterfall and drowned in autumn's colours. I don't know what she studied, maybe something like ergonomics or statistical philosophy.

She was a wire bird flashing across a window pane and I wanted to keep her reflection framed on my desk forever.

"You're too numb," she said once, and laughed.

I just shrugged and smiled. She stroked my "gruff" face and said, "Your eyes are almost as dead as mine," and we did it right there behind a scarred oak tree, brittle twigs snapping beneath.

I would like to say our encounter ended with her drowning in the bathtub and me stuffing her body in my closet to rot for a month.

It did not end so romantically.

She left a silver pen on my bed beside a blank notebook. She wrote nothing inside. She hated writing.

I guess she blocked my number and moved off to someplace with icier waterfalls. Maybe Sweden. Maybe Alaska. Maybe a few blocks down the street from her cold, crusty apartment.

It is raining now. Everything feels like glass. A twinge trickles through me as I think of her rabbit face and her carved-metal figure.

"Why do I love such twisted men?" she asked, almost philosophically, on a snowy spring night.

A ludicrous question, and the last thing she ever said to me.

I guess all metal must rust, eventually.




Short story by pok-a-dolt
Read 139 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2016-12-30 at 22:26

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Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
This text has been chosen to be featured on the home page of PoetBay. Thank you for posting it on our poetry website!
2017-01-01


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Very nice.
2016-12-30