has a poked-in eye—this is how you know for sure it is not real/was once real/is no longer living/is dead. Owl in a box looks out through the glass into your kitchen, seems to follow your movements. Owl in a box belonged to your great-great-grandmother, is so old it must be wise. It would tell you things if it were alive, if it could speak, if you could speak owl. If you were an owl in a box, looking out into someone’s kitchen, would you be a happy owl? It’s impossible to tell if owl in a box is/was a happy owl, if it understands/understood the notion of human happiness. Why is this so important to you? Owl in a box would tell you to stop asking pointless questions, to get down to the nitty gritty. Owl in a box’s box is painted white on the inside, which strikes you as particularly cruel for a nocturnal creature. If you ever put an owl in a box (which you probably wouldn’t) you’d paint the interior black like a night sky, a night with no rain, so owl in a box could remember flight. When did it stop, childhood’s belief that death could be reversed? The bee, returned to its flower. The dried starfish in the bathroom sink. The smashed glass, sound of wings.