Peejon
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“Inmyeonjo”
“Nowadays, pigeons are pests. Dingy, dirty, detestable. People do not like pigeons. Oh, the irony! For it was humans who invited pigeons into their cities and their homes in the first place. It was humans who gave the pigeons their illustrious coats of purples and greens and greys. It was humans who, generation after generation, shaped the pigeon from the wild, skittish dove into the unassuming, hungry creatures who know not a fear for humans. It was humans who, for one reason or another, got tired of pigeons as food, as tools, as pets, and threw them back onto the streets. Long ago, a pigeon might have been born into a warm and comfortable home, hatched under a mother who had herself known nothing but the life given unto her by these caretakers. A pigeon might have grown up needing not and fearing not. A pigeon might have lain in the lap of one of these caretakers, feathers ruffling under the kind caress of a friendly hand, cooing softly, contentedly. A pigeon may have heard the words “I love you, bird” spoken from the youngest of the caretakers. And though the pigeon may not have been able to comprehend the meaning, the pigeon must have known that in that moment, she was safe. In that moment, she was cared for. Now, though, so far in the future, there is no petting for them. And when the Inmyeonjo arrives, there is no warmth. But the Inmyeonjo cannot comprehend betrayal. The Inmyeonjo cannot comprehend anything but care. And so she sits, and the pigeons flock as she graces them with milk and sings softly her favorite words. “I love you, bird.”
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