Because the World is
by Silver Meteor

In Mexico people wear hummingbird amulets around their necks to show they are searching for love. Here people pretend they aren't. Searching.––Francesca Lia Block, Missing Angel Juan

V.

The man is dark, like he belongs somewhere at night where
the cactuses whisper secrets in the hot
desert air, but
got left out here in the sun by mistake,
he has a mustache and a shiny top hat, that
don't match his
red red coat.

She is wearing black, and her hair is dark and a
little dirty, but it still
shines in the sun like feathers from a raven.
Her face is a little sour, but
I know she is happy today, because her eyes which look like
they used to be cats eyes are
sparkling, and she is smirking.

I bumped into them on my
daily rounds at a
local café, begging and filtching,
Hey mister, ya got any spare change
for a starving girl? Look at me,
all skin and
bones. Hey mister?
Steal a wallet when they turn away.

Wotch where yer going, she says. Get out of my way, girlie.
I tilt my head up, put a hand on one hip
and slouch, and tell her
You're fat and ugly, lady, YOU move.

She looks surprised for a bit, but gets angry and
she might grab me but
the man she's with lets out a laugh like a dog and
says Ha, what a sweet little girl. She reminds me of you,
mi amour.

But I stopped listening, because a brown bird just
landed
on the table next to me, and I'm watching it.
It darts about the table, stealing
the crumbs from the plate of the man who
is eating there, while he
reads the paper.

The night-man leans over to me and
holds out his hand,
which are so big they
hold both my hands in one. What is your name,
little girl? he asks.

Sparrow, I say, with a sweet sweet smile,
before reaching out and taking his billfold
and running
down
the street. The man shoughts something
in Spanish, a great roar of sounds like a
great animal, and the sour cat-eyed woman is laughing,
Hawh hawh, reminds you of
me, reminds you of me,
What a sweeeet little girl!