This is a story of extinction that appears as a continuance of life. In which the life in question persists in captivity. Where the life in question is removed from her presence in a world. This happens when the life in question has survived the loss of a world.
For what purpose, this silence? This heavy-handed saving. This bird. These brilliant blue wings. These heads of rusty cinnamon.
She of the long-ago understory of limestone forests, who birthed within the soft rot of trees left standing, of a wilderness allowed to age—until progress arrived.
Who needed darkness without predation to sing the day through her light.
Legends called her the loud woman bird. She of the bright fabrics—until.
This is a story of snakes who came in on cargo ships in the wake of the war, who raided the nests at night in forests raided by day, until the remaining canopies stopped speaking back, and presence became a memory.
This is how captivity preserves the body whose world has gone. The body whose world has gone goes on living, held in an unfinished until.
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Context: I am working through some memoir material and it needs a larger container. So I’ve been researching species declared extinct in my formative years, and working toward understanding various connections between these stories and my own, which was largely dominated by a sense of horrors happening quietly without comment by anyone in my immediate environment. Considering each lost species in a space outside of these longer, more complicated essays-in-progress helps me to gradually understand the relationship. Thank you for reading with me.
a reckoning within the cosmos
or perhaps ekphrastic of the cosmos
thank you, friend.
A profoundly moving text, where extinction, silence, and memory intertwine with a painful beauty. The way you connect life in captivity, the loss of the world, and the intimate experience of silent horror leaves a deep and necessary resonance. Thank you for sharing this process with such clarity and sensitivity.
Lincol, muchas gracias por esta nota. ¡Te lo agradezco mucho!
Thank you for writing, Stacey. I so look forward to reading your words. They continue to affect me with profound admiration and feelings of deep identification.
Sarah, this means so much to me. I am so moved to see this note, and so grateful this connection endures. Peace to you, kindred soul.
Stacey, by the way you draw us in so abundantly with small compositions; your memoir will be extraordinary. ❤️
Carolyn, this is so kind of you to write, and so timely for me to find. I’m in a doldrums week, feeling a bit daunted by so much to do and seemingly little time. Thank you for this reminder: baby steps. Love to you, friend!