Did I tell you the time we found a sparrow spinning on a string from the gutter of a house in our neighborhood? The house was the one on the corner, pale green with moss growing on the roof and tufts of grass sprouting from under the eaves, and this bird, having plucked a string to tie together the stuff of its nest, had twined it around its own neck. I was walking with S., our neighbor, who'd moved from town with his family that year. Together we froze at the sight of the bird swinging and lurching in broken flight. I used a snow shovel to lift the bird and ease the cinch of the string on its neck, and S. ran home for a ladder and scissors to cut the bird down. After, the bird lay still in the grass while S. worked to unwind the string. Someday, I thought, I will tell you this: the hands that freed the bird from the knot; the bird that shook its wings as if to wake itself from a dream and hopped twice in the grass and flew away.

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Wyatt Bonikowski has stories in or coming from Hobart, SmokeLong, Fairy Tale Review and others. He teaches at Suffolk University in Boston.

Read his postcard.

Read more of his work in the archive.

Detail of photo on main page courtesy of Danny Nicholson.

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