And I know now, about the birds – their Latin name, their
population and international distribution. I know their
migratory patterns and have watched footage of them in
flight; could write about the slow, irregular beat of wing or
shrillness of call, but still do not know how to write about
you——————standing at the window that morning at the
repatriation clinic, grey in the early light alongside the other
old soldiers and all of you just watching the birds in the grass
outside. Seven of you there at the window, not speaking only
smoking as you'd smoked through decades of daily crossword
instant coffee, broken families, anger management, repeat
prescriptions, therapy through wood and leather work and
all those things nobody talks about. You stood smoking and
watched the birds build a nest, and though I know the word
Vanellinae—————I still do not know how to write about what
you and those grey men were waiting for.
