Two Strange Birds Paula Hayes

"I won't be calling you again, now," her voice was caught between decision and instinct. "Please," my own voice caught in the snare of mechanical pride, the result of being one-upped by a woman with more willpower than my own. It was a half-chirp and a half-cry that my soul murmured. "You understand, now," she said like a desperado settling a long overdue score. It was not a question, it was the way it was to be.

"It doesn't matter anyway," these were a few of the last words she spoke to me. For days we had been at it; she had made her decision to walk away. Nothing would persuade her to stay; with each sob, each pleading request, she dug her heels in a little deeper. "But I loved you." Two opposing points of view. Two stubborn, beautiful birds. One determined to take flight. The other broken-winged on the ground, gazing upward at a darkened sky that was full of other beautiful birds.

I have been thinking a great deal lately about what it means to be gay. Today, as just one example, I discovered by pure happenstance that one of my favorite contemporary poets, Mary Oliver, shared her life with a female companion.

Mary Oliver, Poet, Naturalist, Spiritualist


Created with images by li.pan39 - "Dream"

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