dear robin family,
it’s no secret
my sister famously identifies as a bird-disliker
after floridian coastal tail feathers once mistook her hair for a toilet.
but what might not air in the nightly news
is how faithfully she’s been watching you
at perfect eye level with your nest
which, most daringly, you’ve constructed at her front door
my sister’s fashionista self cannot stop admiring your mother-tinted designer eggshell blues
your tireless paparazzi, whilst she grumbles about avian-kind as her nemesis
dutifully checking on you—protectively, jubilantly
‘til the day came: your babies emerged
soft, pink, naked
newborn tiny miracles she couldn’t resist gawking,
”just look at them!”
as though you’d waited for her to be there
as if you’d each compared schedules, decided on celebrating together
“they’re in my phone now! aren’t they cute?” she trilled, rushing your babies’ first film debut to me
making sure i zoomed in on bright orange-yellow beaks, she pointed out, stayed constantly open
“do you see that? i think they need more food!”
theorizing why it seemed your babies’ bellies were never full
checking to see you were catching enough worms
her foodie self related and her caring self grew concern, my sister’s lips puckered to one side
‘til the day
your babies left the nest
“whoa! some of them can’t really fly yet!”
and she captured those first moments too
like early 90s vhs home videotapes
of hopping around, crashing from branches, fumbling with lessons of flight
as she continued wondering why these moments kept taking place before her eyes
i could hear my sister worrying for all of your safety.
but the day came—
your babies did fly.
and none of you returned.
the nest she watched so vigilantly,
now empty.
“but they’re still in my phone!” her voice chirruped in my ear. “are you watching?”
as i played her videoclips of your family and flipped through carefully documented spring portraits
i wondered if after flying away,
could you see my sister’s chest as warmed and red as yours?
soaring through clouds before mary poppining toward the next maiden of malcontent
do you still hear her demurely humming your song?
love your not-so-secret admirers,
the e’s.
—
Ta̍k-ke hó! ell (伊/they/she) is an interdisciplinary artist, researcher, and educator of Native Pacific Islander ancestry with a background in culturally connective art and outdoor spaces. Forest, ocean, and play animate ell’s writing, photography/design, and pedagogy. ell’s inspirations include youth daring, laughter, rain, and commitments of care and dreaming across generations, borders, disability, race, language, and imperial intersections in a world meant for magic.
