There are so many ways of playing:
each of the last two mornings
a mystery bird of prey in enormous
grey pinions has appeared on the
northern side of US-59 at the westerly
bend five miles north of the Kaw & Lawrence.
Once on the wing lifting its flight-feathers
up into the shedding tree line & out of sight
before I had even begun counting.
This morning she perched upon a half cut
& nearly petrified cottonwood staring
into my driver’s side window as if I were
just what she had risked the sun up for.
Tomorrow I’ll be ready to find her.
I’ll offer no sporting call but pull my little
silver car over to the side of road & walk
the hundred yards to her spot & wait
for her to give herself away.
Like tonight
as two little boys learned slowly that
patience & stillness leads to that line
between excitement & fright that proves
that being temporarily lost is worth the
anxiety if only for that instant of recognition,
the elation of locking eyes from across a room,
in hiding, under a blanket or table or bed.
in hiding, under a blanket or table or bed.
You hide this time,
I’ll count. Ok, pal,
you be the owl this time.
1, 2,
3,…
I’ll see you in the morning, bird,
I’ve been practicing.
I don't know if this was easy to write, or if it came slowly, but it reads as an effortless act of composition, and I love the combination of the images.
ReplyDeleteMy own boy cannot stand the wait, and if you take more than five seconds to find him, he immediately starts making funny noises to "accidentally" give himself away. Makes me laugh every time.
Well, I thought about it all day, but the writing (as always--in a rush--not having much time to compose in a small house of five occupants!) went pretty fast.
ReplyDelete