Alexis Rotella

Owl Medicine

I go to bed early, pull the covers over my head. It seems Rufus cat wants my attention, tapping me on the head and spine repeatedly. How I wish he’d scram but no such luck, turned on the light – giant wings and shadows flapping about. Too big to be a bat. Jesus Mary and Joseph – how did a bird get in here, I scream loud enough to reach my husband’s ears. I wrap the quilt around myself and hightail it into the living room.

As my husband rushes in with a lace tablecloth to remove a screech owl perched on the slat of a Venetian blind, I pull a symbolism book from the shelf. Transformation. Death. Initiation into the Dark. Within minutes I email Nasira, a priestess friend, to tell her what happened. She answers back in less than three minutes.

I’ve stopped eating. I don’t want a liver transplant. I’m ready to go. I wish you a long and blessed life. Thank you for being my friend.

a pebble drops
and the entire lake
responds