THE ILLUSION OF IDENTITY

by Tina Klimas


I have disappeared.
A lone bird, an ingredient,
blended into a flock.
We soar and dip as one
to the swell of Mendelssohn—
humid summer evening
slick on our feathers—to and fro
until the trees themselves dance.
Awe rises from below.
We are nature, choreographed
to human genius. Flight
is transcendence, is it not?
I am lucky, am I not? Or so
my flock assures me. And yet,
I yearn for them to see
how my feathers iridesce
in a way no other birds do.
They choose blindness,
for I serve a useful purpose
in this group—mother,
spouse, daughter, friend.
This should be enough, but I
cannot hear my own voice.
I lost it somewhere. It
bleeds out with the daylight
into a sky inundated with purple
velvet, a deep and lonely dusk. It
is absorbed into the heartbeats
of the birds around me,
beating their wings in joy
or furious survival. It
is swallowed by the might
of Mendelssohn and the arrogance
of a power of life
that plows over death and
individuality.
I could fly out alone
over the opalescent mystery of the lake
into a gathering darkness.
I would be watched
and pitied,
maybe thought a little mad.
When all is finally reckoned,
do I want to abandon
the fortune of love?
So I will remain invisible.
I am birds, not this bird.
And thus will I continue
to keep perfect time,
to someone else’s music.


* * * * *

Tina Klimas's poems can be found in THEMA Literary Journal, Bear River Review, The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, Backchannels, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Willows Wept Review, and Glassworks Magazine. Her short fiction has also been published in several journals. She enjoys her writing life in Redford, MI where she lives with her husband and their dog.