Invective Against Sparrow 

In the natural foods store 

Sparrow selects sprouted almonds 

and the organic spinach, saying:

“This is my authentic human 

experience.” Sparrow scans 

the chip in her debit card against 

the reader, totally servile.

	On the way home, men 

gaze longingly into the white

expanse of her. One

could say she’s been meditating 

on passion. She occupies herself 

with other tedious things (the gradation 

of light, the moon) as to not summon 

the words, for tomorrow she might 

go to the page and find them

changed, lacking what she thought 

was thrust inside there. It got dark 

under the bridge. She could only see 

highlights on the water, almost colliding 

with the man. The two grunted, 

accommodated the other and 

forgot this. Sparrow did not surrender 

unwillingly. At night she exfoliates

her feet, slapping the wooden

file against her heel,

producing a cloud of white 

dust like chalk off an eraser. 

Sparrow also thought, “Is everyone 

really deserving of affection?” 

She named a few people 

she didn’t like and hoped 

they would never be touched 

or loved. Sparrow nearly tore

apart her many volumes. 

When she found the missing note

its script was slant, the text 

couldn’t be read, grasping onto only: 

“Sometimes sooner given… 

pieces hungry linger…  

a sparrow’s pink mouth.” 

She stayed there long enough 

	to forget what she was looking for—

the words “wind” and “field”—and when 

she realized she stayed there.