the bear and the bird

the bones of birds are filled with air. consequently, their bodies weigh less than is suggested by their volume, and can be buoyed by air currents.

when i learned this in fifth grade, i was envious.

human bones have similar structure to that of birds--it is called cancellate. unfortunately for flying endeavors, human cancellate bone mass is mixed with concrete bone mass, which is solid through and through.

my family's home is all harmonious, like lights shining from a house in winter, and my sisters are like music moving through it. in contrast, i feel like a bear in summer, drunken and fat, lumbering in with obtuse, destructive goodwill. my voice is too loud, my laughter as jarring as a sneeze in a symphony hall.

i am ambitious to be unrecognized. i want to hide, but i know that hiding will make me more conspicuous. i feel most gratified when i am out running, and the cars hiss past me. if i could, i would run from early morning until twilight, when the chaparral breathes out an evening peace. as yet, i can't run far enough for my own satisfaction.

lately i cannot quit crying. it happens suddenly and irretrievably, like someone pulled a rock out of a dam. it comes in jags are like an animal pelt, thick, flush, comforting, a soporific relief. i have to take them alone, unwilling that anyone should see how good they feel.

as i catch my breath, from one jag to the next, i try to find a pressure point that set it off. even if i can find one, it weighs hardly anything when i examine it. i cry at exhaustion, at failure, at stupidity, but these all seem to be scratches on the thick sheeny surface of some grief that is draining, warm and heavy, from incomprehensible recesses, leaving me light-headed and exhausted, hearing only inchoate questions:

how does it all slip away so fast, and where does it go?

it must be my fault--who else could i blame?

everyone accepts that i am the way this way, and they are quick to point out my good qualities. God bless them. why should i get so angry at their kindly acceptance?

why won't the reality come out of hiding?

tonight i heard the "kyrie eleison" we used to sing in college chorus. i shut my eyes and retreated from the heaviness of my breathing body, following its archaic vaults of tones intertwining. like college, it is ethereal, short-lived, nothing more than an exquisite beginning.

i keep running, wishing i could leave the ground, that i could disappear like a vapor when the sun comes out.

all i've ever wanted was to be a bird.