In Search of the Lettuce Bird

In Search of the Lettuce Bird

The official version harps its non-

existence, but the official version

has always been the inversion

of a fish, meaning it doesn’t hold 

together or swim in deep waters

but stinks of decay and is best used 

to attract alleycats or say 

to children, “Look: here is why 

you must forever dodge the hook.”

I am not an alleycat or interested 

in official versions, though still feel 

a deep attachment to the innards

of the commonplace earth, 

which of course is not commonplace 

at all, which of course is the main 

point of this lecture where the teacher

forgot the pointer but makes the point

to gesture haphazardly around

saying “see? Sea? See?” 

It’s all a matter of this nattering 

mattering. I offered a sparrow once 

whatever weight my word was worth

to hold my tongue if he loosed his 

and shared the perfumed fringe

of his most secret thought. I would have 

bumbled in answer, Yes, I half-

guessed as much, and it is wholly

wholly wholly as it ought,

but he didn’t and I didn't

so I am still listening, 

which maybe was his gift to me.  

There may be, may be, a peace 

fierce enough to marry the madness

and the mundane, a piece

to complete the puzzling and ask

at the altar “Will you take this

to be?", and after the awkward span

of our many mutterings—eighty years,

or maybe just a few—may the altar

swoop in to say on our behalf, “I do.”