kettle raze hours after i learn i've been misgendering you for months, you stand at the summit of the spire you've made your second home and wait for me to meet you there. you eat what i offer while a bird makes a sound like a wheel with worn-out bearings. a new world warbler. or a blue_jay breaking down. the call sparks something in you. moves you to scale the wooden pickets that border my property. but you won't leave. you perch on the top rail and look at me. i see what you don't. a hawk. it cuts a slow circle in the sky above your head. i spot another. and another. i count five in all. this has to be a nightmare. but i can't wake up. you're a lamb i've led to slaughter, and the killer closest to me is set to disembowel you. all i have to fight with are my fists. there's a baseball bat in the kitchen. i could try to split the bird's skull. hoping i don't miss. hoping his friends don't descend like locusts and eat me alive. but i don't have time to arm myself. i use my voice. you have to run, i tell you. you have to get out of here. you have to go. you have to go now. you look afraid without understanding why. you won't run from me. so i take flight to make you move, guiding you to what i hope is safety. you follow me. past the gate. behind the garage. over the fence. onto the strongest branch of a tree i can't reach. i say the same thing so many times the words lose all meaning. please god, protect my friend. not believing there's anyone there to hear my prayer. i study the hawks. eight of them now. if they wanted you dead, you'd already be carrion. i watch them recede until they're one with the clouds. the knot in my stomach sags, and i can breathe again. today those birds aren't hunters. they're only pilots announcing their departure without making a sound. 221023 what's it to you? who go blather from