everyday portal 

under the bridge i imagine
the pigeons as gateway guardians.
they roost in patches across the ceiling
like a living scab. a feather or two falls.
i want to catch them. who doesn't want
to be covered in feathers?
i want to be a hybrid bird 
of all different plumage shapes & hues. 
flight would not be necessary. 
the pigeons chatter about me & my pink palms. 
they wonder if i could ever 
perch where they do or if in a past life
they walked where i walked.
passing under the structure
i pretend i will be in a completely new life
when i come out on the other side.
i pass across a membrane. this reminds me 
of the vined arches we'd find in the woods
around the creek where i grew up. we called them 
fairy portals & we chased each other
through them. did i undergo some sort 
of change as i crossed thresholds again & again? 
an alternation i never noticed?
i think of our bodies: great streches 
of soft skin. tongue pined behind teeth.
stuffed animal children. i sewed myself up 
each & everyday. pulled clouds from their nests
to fill my body. now i am hoping for 
a drastic shift. i would like to be 
one of the yellow snails who meander all day
across the bridge's path. or, maybe 
i could be a handful of cherry blossom petals
to be scattered. that's too romantic of me
but imagine the petals pink tinged with red.
above, a train streaks across the bridge filling
the world with noise. a hollow hum.
this is how i imagine the inside of bones sounding.
i take this as a sign i should cross. 
lives rocketing above my skeleton.
all their bones moving so rapidly i cannot see them.
we stopped playing in the woods 
though i can't remember when or why
only that i am me now & the woods are far away.
the bridge was not a portal or at least so it seems.
i am not a bird now. the other side 
flickers behind me. 
the sun is tangerining towards twilight. 
or maybe i am a bird & don't notice
or maybe i was always a bird.
we were all birds in the woods.
i can't tell if i miss being young
or miss my body. it is possible
i never had the thing i miss.
there aren't enough ways 
to alter your flesh. there aren't enough 
portals or woods. a pigeon plucks 
a chip bag from the brush 
& carries it away.