—after a digitally altered photo circulated on Facebook
in a French fairy tale, pure
white throat as though ready to be kissed
and sullied, this picture of a bird
looks genuine. The breast and belly are covered
in horizontal stripes
of alternating crimson and cotton. The beak, however,
resembles a talon, dark
and deadly. But the flaw that tells me
this image is not real
is the arthritic twig legs and spidery claws
which don’t even grip
the branch. Someone labelled this lie “Pyjama bird”
with two laugh-until-I-cry emojis
and followed that with, So amazing, and a scarlet heart.
Who would want to create
a false bird like this when there are so many
fantastical feathers already
aflutter among the trees? Isn’t the northern cardinal
enough to amaze?
Isn’t the firefinch fuel enough to kindle a bough?
If I’d created this creature,
I might have called it peppermint finch, or starlight
starling, or fancy
red-banded bunting. Who’s to say
it might not one day arise
from a genetic mutation? Maybe this digital pic is prediction,
not just some huckster’s prank,
or some bit of beauty designed to fool backyard birders.
If so, then why not
prophesy the human form evolved with wings
all orange, and purple,
and blue a-shimmer, unnecessarily long tail feathers
spread out to resemble an evening sky
complete with stars. The first phoenix apparently burst forth
from an ancient volcano, every plume
a flare and glare of light that cooled a glowing red, then,
finally, an enduring cinder of myth.
David B. Prather is the author of three poetry collections: We Were Birds (Main Street Rag, 2019), Shouting at an Empty House (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions, 2023), and the forthcoming Bending Light with Bare Hands (Fernwood Press, 2024). He lives in Parkersburg, WV (USA).