You all squint and look up at me
like baby birds
and I am tempted
to drop a fish head
because I know this would excite you
but fish heads
aren’t easy to come by these days
so instead I fly and fly
high above you.
You forget this about me,
I can see the eyelash on his cheek,
her hangnail,
the pink flesh inside
that little one’s
throat.
But it’s pens
I hunt for,
searching your beach bags
for the ones who will write me down.
For you I fly and fly,
drawing my way
into your memory
so you will carry me
into a future
when there are no more fish heads
and you squat
on your wisp
of dry earth.
You will tell your story
to the children of your children,
a tale of the great bird
they called the eagle
and how magnificent
I was.