Nesting in reverse

Just a few days ago I found a bird nesting in the most impossible of places: a little corner between the mosquito net and the glass of the faculty restroom.

It was the third of a three-part bird omen.

The very first one was the discovery of a dead pigeon right outside the glass wall of my classroom. I was able to see where it hit it and died.

I wonder how long after that sight my baby's heart stopped beating.

A couple of weeks after, another dead pigeon lied dead on the street just outside my house.

I shielded my daughter from the sight as I took her to school.

I didn't want to explain once more about beautiful creatures dying.

She didn't see it but I drove thinking of the dream that had flown away.

And then, that nesting bird came to me unexpected.

And it gave me hope.

I don't remember if I really did nest that other time, long forgotten, when things went well.

I nest in a different way, I make a cocoon of papers and books and baby clothes I can't bring myself to give away.

To my mother's dismay, I have never been good at cleaning and putting things away.

But tonight, that I no longer wait for the writer inside to flicker its hidden messages in Morse code on my skin, I have nested in reverse:

tonight I've thrown away pill bottles long ago expired, mutilated magazines awaiting Maya's left-handed scissors to cut away, hand-outs for students that will never read them, hopes and dreams of a me that no longer is.

Tonight little bird I nested for you in reverse.

But maybe, just maybe not too long from now, I'll make my cocoon of words and over-worked poems in the least expected of places.

And maybe

just maybe

you may come back.