Aviaries, by Howie Good
by Benjamin Imamovic
for Joseph Cornell
You stare at a tree as if waiting for it to burst into bloom, rain flying so close that its feathers brush against you.
You make a box of the night sky, with constellations of nails; another that resembles the door to a river; and others more like windows, or caskets, or a ballerina who suffers from migraines and talks to pigeons.
You were hailing a taxi on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 53rd when you heard the word “beautiful,” long, thin, misunderstood. What more could you want? Well, to be guarded on either side by a stone lion.
You open the cage of a stuffed green parrot. It takes some people a lifetime to realize that what should occupy empty space is emptiness.
Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of the new poetry collection, Dreaming in Red, from Right Hand Pointing. All proceeds from the sale of the book go to charity, which can be read further about here: https://sites.google.com/site/rhplanding/howie-good-dreaming-in-red