BEING KAREN

She sleeps high in the tree, frail and slight, finely built, a small bird. Wrapped around a branch tightly, although she can fly, a little. Awkward flight. Always arms outstretched to grasp the nearest sturdy perch. She never learned to fly. She just woke up one day, in the trees, flying. … To fly was surprising. And tiring. She can’t rely on it. She must rely on the trees, and shun the ground until she knows why. To land feet back on the earth may be through falling. Not-fly