What Do I Symbolize?
"Peace," I told the doves.
They
shifted their weight,
certain
members of the cote
avoiding
eye contact.
“Beg
your pardon,” said the leader,
“but
are there expectations?
Will we
be held to account
should
we happen to squabble
from
time to time?
“I
can't speak for human society,”
I
explained
as so
many times before,
“but
if we haven't watched you closely till now,
we're
not likely to start.”
“Right
then,” said the leader, shutting the door
to the
sound of rhythmic, warring coos
and the
wild flapping of wings.
"Grace," I told the swans.
These,
too, locked eyes
but the
two heads swung back
in a
purposeful arc.
“You're
kidding,” she said, cutting off his words
and
raising splayed wings,
encumbered
with embarrassment.
“I can
barely fly! Shouldn't some sort
or
swift, or hummingbird...?”
“That's
just it,” I began.
But he
had the idea,
roiling
the water with his pinions:
“There's
no one heavier who flies!” he cried.
“Yet
we don't make it look so hard,
do we?”
“Precisely,”
said I.
“No
one sees a swan and thinks,
'That
thing should be in the air'.
The fact
you often are
is added
glory.”
“Rebirth," I told the phoenix.
"Well, duh," it said. "But come to think of it, what is that for most people? Shedding bad habits? A fresh perspective on the world? God. I still add with an abacus. A literal abacus. And I fuss too much with my primaries. Make 'em fall out early. I'm a terrible example.”
“But
you are literally reborn
every
thousand years,”
I
prodded.
“Yeah, but figuratively I'm terrible at rebirth. Just try to get me to eat my fruit and seeds. I'm a snackoholic.”
"Jesus,"
I said.
"Is
there someone else
I can
talk to?"
"Nope, sorry," said the phoenix, shaking dead feathers from its wings. "Only me."
"I'm
not sure this is going to work out,"
I said.
"I think symbols
may only
work
in the
aggregate."
"Suits
me," the bird shrugged. "I'm happier just being myself,
anyhow."