Birthday
by Jeff Friedman
In the yard, Giselle told me I was born of a snake, so I wound her tightly into a spool and didn't let up until she cried, "I take it back." I hissed at her awhile and laughed, and she seemed to laugh too. I pulled her long blond braids and kissed her cheek and maybe all was forgiven.
Helene laughed too, lying on her belly in the rubber pool, her wet black hair shiny like a crow's feathers. She said I was born of a predatory bird like a red-tailed hawk or an eagle. I liked that better, but not much. I ploughed the air around her, whapping her with my powerful wings while she tried to get out of the pool, splashing and falling and yelling for help, arms covering her head, while I hovered over her, threatening to thwack her some more if she got up again.Joey rocked on the swing, drawing his name in the dirt with a toe. When he finally looked up, he said I was born of a skunk, and he could smell me clear across the yard. I barraged him with handfuls of pebbles and rocks. Before he could get to the house, I wrestled him to the ground, rubbing his face in the dirt. "Smell this," I said and sat on his face until he started crying. When I let him up, he ran to the hose and washed his mouth out and his face.
Vincent bounced a kickball off the brick wall. He said I was born of a fat woman and would end up fat. He threw the kickball at me and made a run for it. I caught him before he could climb over the cyclone fence and pulled him down by his pants. I put my foot on his chest and let my drool rain into this face. "What did you say? I asked. He spit and slobbered, covering his face.
Jenny flew down the slide, smirking at me. She said she was born of love and love hurts. "It can't hurt me," I answered, but couldn't stop thinking about her for the rest of the afternoon. I followed her from the slide to the pool to the picnic table while the others watched or played in the grass. Jenny whispered something to Jo Ann and both of them laughed at me.
Jo Ann said I was born of a stray dog, and that I was misbehaved, a bad dog who needed a good thump on the muzzle. I went after her legs and pulled her to the ground, barking and growling, biting her calf lightly, but hard enough to frighten her.
Then I heard something whip through air and felt sharp stings on my butt and back and rolled over. Jenny slashed the air over me with the stick and then brought it down hard across my face, drawing blood. "Happy birthday," she shouted, hitting me again and again. I curled up and took the beating.
Jeff Friedman's fourth collection of poetry, Black Threads, was published by Carnegie Mellon University Press in 2007. His poems and translations have appeared in Poetry, American Poetry Review, Margie, 5 AM, Agni Online, Poetry International, and the New Republic. His book of translations, Modern Hebrew Poems of the Bible, has just been accepted for publication by Wolfson Press.