I Woke Next to the Corpse by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Page 126

I had a brainchild of what that might have been. The bird seemed purposefully quiet with its beak shut, the calling aspect of its repertoire having been previously called out and called out and called out ........ When I was at my grandma’s house years ago I’d often see robins, especially when the snow and ice began to melt, the first sign of spring. They always seemed to come in pairs. This was easy to see when the number of robins was small, and when the larger numbers defied being able to match them up, counting always produced an even number. No threes or nines. Of necessity starting with the twos and fours, one was soon at the eights, sixteens, thirty-twos, and on. Some book I skimmed purported that it knew something, and told me that the robins you see this year are often the same ones you saw the prior year, as they tend to go back to the same places and mate for life. I remembered having liked that notion, and thought that this lone bird’s mate must have been taken by a hawk when out finding worms for the babies. This robin still had some faith,

I Woke Next to the Corpse