naming the birds

it is the ugly day. i borrow my mom's shoes
to go out in the yard & plant a tooth 
behind the garage. the old christmas tree
has grow up hold squirrels. its shadow
is that of a broad-shouldered man. the squirrels
are covering their ears. there is only so much
you can write to your government about
before you are talking to no one. before
your words turn into french fries.
quick & needy. i don't try to tell the truth often.
when i do write i say things like, "i believe
in ghosts." the government puts a metronome 
at the end of our driveway. i tried to tell
my lover that we could hide in my parent's house.
here now though i know there is no where
to go. no secret door. no bookshelf that opens
into a golden field. my mom joins me.
we take a walk & i do not tell her about the tooth.
i am no obsessed with legacy but i do want
a part of my body to feel free. the tooth
one day turning into a grinning tree. one that
no one will ever be able to cut down. they will
come for miles to see it. they will not know
it is me. it is the un-killable parts of me.
we see birds & try to guess what they 
are called. we are both story tellers of sorts.
she tells me about birders she's written about
before for the paper. we decide the birds
are barn swallows though neither of us can
confirm if that is true. the birds tell us,
"you can call us anything. just don't call 
us dead." we try other names. "house wren"
& "white-throated sparrow." the birds laugh.
they know that none of the names are correct.
we ask them to guess our names & they say,
"afraid." we stop laughing. go home. i check
on my tree as if it might have grown in the short 
time since we walked. just the grass. 
i am told that change is gradual. that slowly
the world becomes kinder. i guess i believe it can.
but i do not believe anything is gradual. 
i have never witnessed 
a gradual change. i have seen glaciers melt.
i have seen families of trees turned to ash.
my body shape-shift around my hunger. 
it always feels too fast to catch up to.