The Distance Between Us
I thought of the bird that had gotten lost
Inside the airport terminal.
It glided back and forth only to be stopped
Short by the glass. The sparrow flapped
Its wings madly to stall collision each time,
Its twiggy feet unclasping and grasping
From under its feathers, flexing
Toward the clear surface, looking
To the tarmac filled with evacuees.
When the attendant announced
It was time to board
I alerted a janitor to the lost bird.|
I tried to quiet my thoughts on the plane
But could only imagine it repeating
The motions, wings beating
Against the glass, then it collapsing
From exhaustion and being
Swept into a dustbin.
The strongest form of contraception
Genevieve DeGuzman was born in the Philippines, raised in Southern California, and graduated from Columbia University. Her fiction and poetry appear or are forthcoming in Abyss & Apex, Alluvian, Flyway, Ithaca Lit, Liminality, LONTAR, Reed Magazine, and Switchback, among other journals. She has been a winner of the Oregon Poetry Association New Poets Contest, a finalist for the Lauren K. Alleyne Difficult Fruit Poetry Prize, and a literary arts resident at Can Serrat. She currently lives in Portland, Oregon. Learn more at: about.me/genevievedeguzman