by Holly Day
In Argentina, children dress like birds for special occasions
to celebrate the arrival of the tiny blue-green finches that arrive every spring
flying all the way to Tierra del Fuego from the Appalachian Mountains
to lay blue jelly bean eggs in nests made of spiderweb and grass stems.
I want to dress my daughter like a migrating bird, wrap her in yellow fuzz
like a goldfinch, or blue like an Eastern bluebird, or any of the birds
that disappear from here every fall. But really, I would like to wear that costume myself
make great wings out of strips of bright-colored paper, a mask with shiny, dark eyes
But really, I would like to be one of those birds myself
would like to spread my paper wings and just disappear.
Holly Day (hollylday.blogspot.com) is a writing instructor at The Loft literary center in Minneapolis and Hugo House in Seattle. Her writing has recently appeared in Hubbub, Grain, and Third Wednesday, and her newest books are The Tooth is the Largest Organ in the Human Body (Anaphora Literary Press), Book of Beasts (Weasel Press), Bound in Ice (Shanti Arts), and Music Composition for Dummies (Wiley).