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Bring two poems is what he said. 

She chose a Personification, ‘Violin’, (the proud recipient of an International Poetry contest award), and a narrative, ‘The Rise and fall of an Empire.’ 

***

A Raven greets her.

She follows him, up into the nest where he retreats to the far side.

A young Bald Eagle sits on a long orange perch. 

She sits at the opposite end of the perch.

Seconds pass.

The Bald Eagle asks her not to take it personally, but she must fly elsewhere as the ‘Euphoria’ bothers her, and flies to the Raven’s side.

Rejection begins to throb in her ring finger.

A Crow arrives and perches beside her.

A Crane perches across from her.

A Turkey arrives and perches to her right.

What a strange gathering of birds, she thinks to herself.

Copies of poems are handed to everyone. 

 What is going on here?  She wonders.

 “Did you bring copies of your poems?” one bird chirps. 

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,”  She chirps in reply. 

 Bring two poems is all that the Raven requested.

The Raven caws his poem first, then sets an alarm clock to go off in 14 minutes as each bird proceeds to chirp about his poem. 

 The alarm rings. 

 The next bird chirps her poem.  

Again, the alarm clock is set and again the birds chirp about the poem.  

Eventually she is asked to twitter her poem.  

With a mixture of pride and uncertainty, and all the emotion she can muster, she twitters ‘Violin.’	

 Silence threatens to break her eardrums. NO adulation, NO acknowledgement whatsoever. This poem that has brought tears to many a bird’s eye, this poem that a poet, on page 142 of his book of poetry, referred to as the most beautiful poem he has ever read, a true masterpiece, is met with complete indifference.

The Raven finally breaks the silence with…

 “As you didn’t bring copies for us to read along with, twitter it again.” 

She twitters it again, and the pecking begins.

No longer bothered by her ‘Euphoria’’ the Bald Eagle flies over to her side and hovers over her ‘Violin’, and proceeds to peck away at it, egged on by the others.


“What do you mean I started in one style and ended in another? What do you mean I should consider revising? It is the way I wrote it. ‘Violin’ is a Personification, a poem that gives life to an inanimate object. I didn’t intend it to have any particular style,” she chirps, as she dares to defend herself and her beloved ‘Violin’ in the only way she knows how. Then, she boastfully blurts out that ‘Violin’ won An International Poetry Contest with a cash prize. 

A maple-sugar-coated tongue ejects from the sharp beak of the Bald Eagle, and spits “well congratulations,” spattering her Revlon mask with droplets of sulfuric acid spittle that burns her eyes until all she can see is red.   

“You didn’t make any revisions when you wrote it?” caws the Raven.

 “No”, she chirps.

“That’s talent,” he caws in reply.

More silence.

More poems are twittered, more alarms go off, as the pecking continues.

Until the Bluebird announces tea is served. 


CONTINUED IN PART THREE...
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