for refusing to learn the names of the birds,
for calling all the small hopping ones sparrows,
for calling all the black ones crows. Look at the crow,
I say, pointing to a raven, a jay, a something,
my baby’s eyes affixing on the tip of my pointing finger.
Fired for personifying the birds too much,
for implying that all the birds of prey are related,
that they have big family reunions where they wear
matching shirts and do the electric slide
while a white-headed eagle mans the grill.
Fired for fraternizing too much with the fowl,
for letting my stroller-bound son launch crackers
into their delicately balanced ecosystems,
for accepting their offerings of shed feathers
with which I stuff soft pillows for his racecar bed.
Fired for rejecting classification, for preferring
wonder, for wanting to live forever in the moment
my son’s eyes opened so wide I could walk in,
his chubby finger pointing to a squirrel
camped on a branch as he hooted, bird!
Frances Klein is an Alaskan poet and teacher. Klein is the author of the poetry collection Another Life (Riot in Your Throat 2025). She is a founding editor of Flight: A Literary Sampler, and editor at The Weight Journal. Klein’s flash and poetry have appeared in Best Microfictions, The London Magazine, Rattle, The Harvard Advocate and others. WEB
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