A Vacuum's Tale of a Bird
This story has many endings, as I’m sure all of yours are. She calls them windows,
sometimes wings she can escape by. There are locked doors too, keys often lost.
Her sky has many twinkling eyes, as I’m sure all the stars are. She finds them
stalking, sometimes winking, no hiding from, even in dim-lit streets.
There are those star-like shards piercing her too, with words like jelly, often butter-
wrapped knives. In markets, schools, streets alike.
So, this bird piles feathers to make her a cloak, as I’m sure the entire vacuum is made
of. But there are nails gnawing her even in sleep, she can't escape enough.
When she hears voices rising, sometimes she adds her own. There are winds, fleeting,
whose waves carry them afar.
sometimes wings she can escape by. There are locked doors too, keys often lost.
Her sky has many twinkling eyes, as I’m sure all the stars are. She finds them
stalking, sometimes winking, no hiding from, even in dim-lit streets.
There are those star-like shards piercing her too, with words like jelly, often butter-
wrapped knives. In markets, schools, streets alike.
So, this bird piles feathers to make her a cloak, as I’m sure the entire vacuum is made
of. But there are nails gnawing her even in sleep, she can't escape enough.
When she hears voices rising, sometimes she adds her own. There are winds, fleeting,
whose waves carry them afar.
Mandira Pattnaik's work has appeared in Passages North, Citron Review, Bending Genres, Splonk, Bombay Literary Magazine, Gasher Journal and Amsterdam Quarterly, among other places. She is a 2020 Best of the Net, Pushcart and Best Microfiction nominee. She lives in India.
Art: Design for the Magic Flute: The Hall of Stars in the Palace of the Queen of the Night, Act 1, Scene by Karl Friedrich Schinkel