Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Sarah Relocates Her Dad to Florida, Gets Him Settled and Goes Back to Brooklyn

by Amy Soricelli

The Northern Mockingbird did not sit on her father's deck -
no welcome sign no basket of fruit old ladies with crocheted blankets.
It would have been fitting for its ruffled Southern feathers to sing some bird Rap Song by her open suitcase
(which surprisingly did not carry the grimy ash of regret she intended to pack into her travel bag.)
She snapped answers into quick pieces.. mushrooms broken cap from stem -
forced open every window- 'only a little' he warned...
(lest the sun shines through/drags some hope with it).
She was tired - angry old people with their spotty marks across their hands like medals..
"look how hard I worked for you" they mocked.... like the bird-always mocking.

She took his wheelchair to the space in the park where they all sit and swap what they carry in the folds of their arms, the brim of their hats...
the outlined crayon drawings of what they can see from this morning....
what they care to remember.
(she believes that - she thinks sometimes he chooses to forget her.)
"I don't know you" he says - "who are you with your bird like face?"
She hates him then - hates the black specs of dirt it leaves behind -
hard to carry that.
(It does not travel well.)

The Northern Mockingbird with his 200 songs did not peck away at the supermarket flyers-
the ripe naked fruit in its bowl -no more brown bags gathered tight at its neck forcing its maturity in time for the news.
She sprinkled sage along the window sill -the rim of his flattened beige carpet;
she hung a dream catcher over his bed and whispered "I love you's" into the corners of each room...
she pointed to strangers on the street and followed their steps -
her lips moving in braille... You could be happy here.
Asleep on the sofa - pillows fat with memory -spare New York City dust...
she hums a tune and puts on tea.
He will awaken from the tunes it borrowed from the other trees across the street - the Northern Mockingbird
with his welcome sign banging on the branches/the doors of his head.
"Let me in" he says.
"Let me in".

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