039 Pigeon II

Wednesday, January 12th, 2011

There are always pigeons in Chicago. Always. When one visits the same spots repeatedly, one notices that some pigeons are always there through the years (if one is observant), no matter how much time has passed. There is always a pigeon with only one toe on one foot at the Randolph and Wabash stop on the CTA; there’s always a black pigeon spattered with white, as though someone had thrown bleach on it, at the Daly Plaza.

It’s relatively easy to catch a pigeon, if one so desires. They throng thickly and are used to humans. It’s no great feat to snatch one into a sack and wring its neck, to pluck its feathers and use them to stuff a pillow.

If one sleeps on a pillow stuffed with pigeon feathers, one will dream. One will dream of sitting on telephone wires and will hear, in dream, the City’s secrets through one’s feet. One will dream of flying and ache, upon waking, knowing that one will never fly in truth.

Comments are closed.