My mother befriended an Indian ringneck parakeet in the front lawn at dawn around the time my father left us I bought him a spacious cage and everything he needed to see this home as anything other than what it was I stole rocks from the street and mouthfuls of berries and dry sticks to replace my missing chess board pieces I taught him my ponziani opening and reinterpreted youth with him I would kiss his beak and he’d flutter his eyes like weeping headlights slipping through bedroom curtain blinds I introduced him to women before taking them to the lake and convincing them of garden-snake empathy and a toad’s croaking resonance A desperate longing for shared understanding He watched me break down my re-up into 3.5 gram bags and tear out all the incompatible prayers from my first book of surahs I named him buddy, I named him as he was Damaged yet offering of a heart Buddy left after realizing this home was no home for him I hope that he’s telling his new home I’m better than I was That he leaves out the chardonnay stains on my prayer mat My months between showers My dreams of the earth swallowing me like krill I hope he finds his way back to us This home has endured so much but it’s still breathing and habitable and awaiting your return just look at the creaking floorboards Oh father, the potential we had in our aching hands __________________
Shirin Abedinirad, House in the Wind, 2017. Land art, Marrakesh, Morocco. Created in collaboration with Nikon and BMW Mini, the work imagines the desert as an open studio, where the sky becomes ceiling, horizons become walls, and wind, light, clouds, mirrors, and sand become collaborators in a meditation on nature, freedom, and belonging. Artwork courtesy of featured artist Shirin Abedinirad.
