nesting

i wanted to build a mobile
to live over my head like afterlife.
a lady who falls from the top
of the building each night
is trying to be a swallow.
i fill my pockets with garbage 
& glass shards from the sidewalk.
sometimes i fantasize about 
going out every morning
& collecting trash. what makes 
a neighborhood beautiful?
the trash cans fill with scissors.
i buy another lighter & flick it
as if i might be able to make
a sun all on my own.
my lover tells me every night
that the world will be over
in thirty years. i turn off 
my listening. i walk out to
the nearest swing set & pretend
i am a lost girl. more garbage.
i'm collecting for a future nest.
that's how the birds are coping.
they stuff doritos bags 
between twigs. they gnaw on
fractured chicken bones.
raise their young within 
a torrent of brevity. tell them
"tomorrow we will be air." 
a good breeze is full of centuries
of birds. i wish i had that lineage.
hollow wishes & a grandmother 
who didn't live like an obelisk.
instead, i am human & making a nest
isn't in my blood. i watch the birds
to learn. pick up a shattered cell phone
that keeps ringing. i just want
to answer. on the other end
i picture of a room full of pigeons.
lets never go for a walk alone.
at night, the park is full of sneakers.
you sleep cradling a pillow
as if it were a baby. you do not know
you are doing this. sense memory
or something else. i toss rocks
in the creek. i will come home soon
with what i found.