{The Ibis}

When we see them first, the ibises, we are tired from our journey,
edges worn soft from worry and unfamiliar beds.
When we see them first, they are grazing the field,
iridescent blue and gray coats seemingly wet in the
morning light, long curved beaks swaying between
grass and heaven.
When we see them first, we stand amazed,
our eyes locked on the strange, but commonplace
creatures, living their small, important lives.
This morning, 3 years later, in the same glimmering country,
when we see the ibis flying over
our heads and hear their screeching voices,
my brother says,
“Annoying birds, long, crooked beaks.”
3 years is one 28th of our life, probably,
and that is all it took – to forget.
I wonder why we ask for miracles,
if only to leave them behind.
This morning, I tell the ibis that they are
miraculous.

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