by Colette Love Hilliard
We learned to love the birds.
The backyard bird
with her black cap and white cheeks.
The flicker so flirty
in his polka dot dress and red scarf.
The bus-stop-bird
who mocked us each morning
with a mixtape of songs
by someone else.
We learned to love the bones.
The mismatched shingles
on the mansard roof
and the pumpkin-colored door.
The wrought iron staircase and
windflower wallpaper–
the backdrop
for crushed velvet dresses
and top hats.
We learned to love the pool.
The feeling of lungs
so full of breath
we learned to live underwater.
Our fins unfurled and settled
at the bottom of the ceramic basin.
The sub-aquatic sounds,
muted and muddy,
but unmistakably mermaid.
We learned to love through
frayed feathers and
stone skin and
saltwater dreams.
We learned to love through
all the silly seriousness
of being immortal teens.
Colette Love Hilliard is a writer and teacher from St. Louis, MO. She is the proud recipient of half a skull from HAD, and her work has appeared in The Indianapolis Review, Sky Island Journal, Harpy Hybrid Review, and elsewhere. Among other things, a photo of her dog can be found at colettelh.com.