The Bird with a Broken Wing
This one is called The Bird with a Broken Wing.
This week was harder to write my memories. My dearest friends are leaving New York, others will need to stay quarantined until there is a vaccine, and, the reality of a recession and me being an immigrant sunk in.
On Monday I went for a morning walk to the water. There was a black-backed gull walking in the Costco carpark. A man chased it with his camera. It dodged oncoming cars. Its wing was broken. I couldn’t stand the thought of it dying under the wheels of a car. I took off my jacket, managed to put it over its body, pick it up and placed it over the fence. It scuttled to a jutting rock. A man and a dog had come near. His father had died that morning. The army, he said, came and took him away. They put his body in a U-Haul truck on top of a pile of others.
I have been thinking a lot about that bird. I’ve not brought myself to go back to that car park. Likely, it will die slowly of starvation.
Its death is in my body. New York City is hurting.