Changeling

I can hear you.

I heard you calling to me.

It’s gray out though and I don’t want to leave my bed. It’s safe here.

They can’t see me when I’m under the blanket with the bumble bees in it.

Even though you flew right up to the window and chirped at me.

No one believes me that you come over and talk to me, but you do.

I know it.

I hear you.

I hear you every morning.

I think my cat hears you too.

He sits on the window sill licking his whiskers as if he just ate some tuna fish and he looks out the window and bobs his head up and down as if he’s following the path of your flight with his eyes.

When you call his ears twitch so I know I’m not crazy.

Not this time.

Not like last time when I knew I saw that girl but no one else did.

They thought I was trying to kill myself when I jumped off the pier and into the cold cold water but I wasn’t.

I know I wasn’t.

I was trying to save her from being pulled under by the turning tide.

But when I got there, when I got under the water the only person being pulled by the tide is me.

Who are you people? Not that you’re people.

A tiny blue bird singing on my tiny white window sill in the morning when it’s gray.

No leaves left on the trees and the evergreen trees look gray today.

You are blue. Bright bright blue on the wing.

Are you a fairy? Or are you a bird?

I don’t know what fairies look like and to me you look like a bird.

You have a beak and two beady black eyes and wings and little miniature chicken feet sticking out from under a feathered body.

Looks like a bird.

But what bird would stick it’s head up against my cold pane-glass window and chirp at me?

So I’ll stay here in my bed, where you can’t get me.

Where they can’t see me.

And you can spy on me through my open curtains but you’ll not be able to read my thoughts and I’ll keep the computer turned well away from you, in case tiny bird fairy whatever-you-ares can read.