Bird Strike Analysis by Stephen R. Roberts A bird strikes the back door window, a pluff of feather on glass. There’s a little mark on the pane to mark where the pain came from. The bird’s ok. Though I’m dizzy, confused in thoughts of flying The bird’s up, wobbling across the concrete. I try to help, stretching my arms perpendicular to my torso, as if wearing a cloak of feathers. I flap. The bird watches through the clear sky he just smacked into. He perceives that unseen accidents may be where or when it ends. There’s a look in his eye as he tilts his head, and I tilt mine in the opposite direction to show I understand or have no qualms or questions about attempts to crash through new dimensions to reach kitchens or space-time continuums with vivid possibilities. After all, spring will be here soon or sometime after, and windows should be foiled or hung with ribbon marking entries to new worlds, so they can be avoided or prepared for ahead of time without the head
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.