For Only God Knows What (NYPC #13)

New Year's Poetry Challenge, Prompt #13

We share our world with about 9,956 species of birds. Write a poem about birds -- their lives, their habits, the wild, the domesticated, their place in your life, what it might be like to be one, metaphors associated with birds, whatever bird-like imagining you can come up with.  

We were sitting

in the living room

when dad spotted it

through the window.

He sprung to action,

“Get my shoes!”

And we were all

in a panic

for only God knows what.

“Dá-me uma toalha!”

to mom he bellows

like his accordion.

She hands him a towel

then swings her hands

toward the ceiling,

What crazy thing now

is he up to?

For only God knows what.

He quickly limps out

the back door and

glides down the stairs

like polio was only kidding.

Mom warns us kids

to get back,

so we rush to

the window to gawk

for only God knows what.

We watched him crab walk

to what we could finally see

was a dull, green,

wild-eyed cockatoo.

Dad’s eyes were alive

but he approached with

ease before—whoosh—

that bird disappeared

for only God knows what.

He brings it inside

and furiously it beats

its wings along the rim

of our living room sky,

swooping on lampshades

larger than my entire body,

and roosting on the antennae

of that knobby old television set

for only God knows what.

For minutes that

stretched like hours,

utter chaos spanned

many tongues:

my brothers' cackle and whoop,

mother’s Portuguese slang, and

father and mine's

delight

for only God knows what.

We fed that cockatoo

until the color came back

into its cheeks

and gave it a place to nest.

Mom, who had protested,

let it perch on her head

as she set the table

or sat down for a telenovela.

In fact, mom was its

favorite, I think,

even though dad

had been its savior.

Or had he?

I often wonder if that cockatoo

was happy there on

Watkins Street,

for only God knows what

freedom can mean.

IG: @daydreamifications