Oiled - Mona Mehas

In the morning, I left my lodge to look for food
Not finding any, I ventured further
The water became thick; my feet grew heavy
I couldn’t see anything underneath me
I swam farther; the water was murkier
My wings were too heavy to fly
Preening gave me a bitter, oily taste that made me sick
I found only dead fish covered with that oily bitterness
Growing weaker, I lacked the strength to return home
Dizziness overcame me
My eyes were covered in – what?
I could barely see through the grimy film
So tired…I closed my eyes
And lay on my side to rest for a while.

Then hands were on me
Desperate to flee
Afraid for my life
Squawking, flapping my heavy wings
I lie exhausted in their hands
They put me in a plastic tub, and I succumbed to sleep.

I woke with more hands touching me
Their voices were gentle as they cleaned my feathers
They removed the black stuff from my eyes and nose
They put me in a cage and carried me
To clean water.

I smelled the greens floating on top
They lowered me to the ground, and I waded in
I drifted off with life swimming underneath me.
I made a new lodge
No others of my kind were there
Until the hands with gentle voices brought another.

Originally published by Gaian Voices 2010

Mona Mehas (she/her) writes about growing up poor, accumulating grief, and climate change. A retired, disabled teacher in Indiana, USA, she’s at her laptop most days with two old cats as chaperones. Previously, Mona used the pseudonym Patience Young. She’s published in Last Stanza Poetry Journal, Words & Whispers, Grim and Gilded, Militant Thistles, and others. In 2020, she watched every Star Trek show and movie in chronological order. @Patienc77732097 on Twitter.