The Hawk

Utagawa Hiroshige 1857
Print by Utagawa Hiroshige 1857

There was a poem in the

crow (or was it a starling?) circling

my yard, landing on my neighbor’s tree.

I could see a poem in the

golden hawk sitting on a branch,

flying off, tracked by three

black birds (or crows

or starlings.).

The three birds (and

the poem) weaving around

him.

Seeing

rocker
Poppy’s rocking chair © Kristin Cleage

the light through Poppy’s

window on the pale green

walls and the low

rocking chair my

mother was rocked in

during fevers and sore

throats.  The lace curtains.

The screen patched with

screen.