Nov. 7th, 2010 03:13 am
elionwyr: (write hard)
[personal profile] elionwyr
(This is for the art book circle thingala to which I've had the honour of inclusion. I think it's the next entry. Yes, it's damned short. Welcome to my crippled muse. Click on the twiddle tag for the other entries.)

(I should add that, over the summer, while riding with [ profile] ysobelle to 30th Street Station in Philly, I was able to point at the sculpture that inspired this dark little series of snippets so many years later. I'm very pleased to say that the last time I saw this particular leonine sculpture, his mouth was not full of trash. Perhaps he's not as angry now.)

Pigeons know the secrets of a city.

Their bodies reflect the filth or the gentrification. Stretched out in the sun or huddled in the shadows fighting over almost-food, the hints of facts are there for those who look closely enough.

We should have known long ago what was to come.

Years of perching on all of that tortured marble twisted the birds’ feet into mockeries of claws. Oh, we saw it, and we assumed it was frost bite, or infected cat-inflicted injuries, or any number of things except the steady poisoning of malice seeping into flesh. Red glittering eyes and oil-slicked feathers – aggression that inspired studies by a handful of puzzled ornithologists – yes, the warnings were there, and we chose not to understand.

Our city consumed angels.

And nature hated us for it.

January 2013

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