The Me of Us

SU­SAN E. WADDS

Room Magazine - - SIMMONDS -

We were like those birds—the male who ruf­fles his blind­ing blue plumage and sets down a silky fil­a­ment or a tuft of fox hair and does a dance so fan­tas­tic who wouldn’t swoon, where she, in­tent on some sad grub, goes on peck­ing. I’ll get that grub for you, says he with a flut­ter and lays that morsel at her fine feet which are al­ready hop hop­ping to the end of the branch. Or per­haps we were like those long beg­ging crea­tures with ten­dril an­ten­nae—she who says, come in, let’s make a home here with our sweet cou­pling, and he swoons and prays and loses him­self in her gor­geous green places while she chews, her mandible jaws open­ing and clos­ing, open­ing and clos­ing, on his great green head which is no longer needed but to feed the young she re­fuses to bear.

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