The Starling at the Campus Shuttle Stop

Brown, twine-like, a mummified bird lay in the corner of the bottom step—no eyes, little gnarled claws. It must have fallen from the nest above last winter. For a week, it sat there, and nobody noticed but me.

At last, I scooped the fragile bone bundle and carried it up five flights, past the endless posters and big “safe space” signs sparkly with insincerity, over to the counselor's window alcove. There I deposited it in the pot of some lost tropical plant where it could overlook our whole miserable little town.

“You’re safe now,” I told it. And left.