I watch my parakeet sit on the swing in his cage as it sways. His head is swiveling around to take in his world, my room. He sings out a short tweet. He’s looking straight at me. Singing straight at me. Or does it only seem that way?
He jumps off the swing, flapping, and lands with a metallic thud on the bars of the cage floor. He scuttles around, hopping from branch to branch. Still singing; yes, singing. Always singing. He’s so happy. Or does it only seem that way?
Climbing up onto a branch, and hitting the bell I hung there with his beak. Making it ring out in song. A harmony of two melodies, his and the bell’s. His delightful chirps and the bell’s merry chimes. And then he jumps at the front of the cage, claws grasping the vertical bars, and he’s singing directly at me. No question. Or does it just doesn’t seem that way?
I crawl off my chair, cross the room, open the door, let him jump onto my finger. Then he’s out in my room, flying in patterns around the space above my head. I watch him and listen to his song raise in volume to happy shrieks. Feel the wind his wings make brush my cheeks. Hold my finger out as he lands on it. Or does it only seem that way?
He climbs up my arm to my shoulder, and I feel the tickles as he nibbles at stray hairs, and my earrings. Or does it only seem that way?
He’s here, still. Very much here. Not gone so far I’ll never see him but in memories. Right here, he sits, on my shoulder. Absolutely. Not limp in my hands. He flew, not fell. I’m not scared to open my eyes and see. Or does it only seem that way?