This poem is taken from Cuts, my collection of poetry published in 2015. It’s available as an ebook and in paperback. Find it here.

hawk2

 

HAWK

Every morning
perched on the lamp post above the highway onramp
she sees me:
hawk.
Eye cocked
looking for that twitch of life in the grass
for that smudge of death on the blacktop,
rip-gut-sharp-talons gripping steel

What is this place
to her?
Lamp post, or dead tree?
Concrete dividers, or grey, smooth granite?
Highway, or parched riverbed?
And does it matter?
Does it matter at all
to her
in the end?

When she rises skyward
wings held steady
feathers a-tremble
beak as yet unbloodied.
She rises
life and death
sky and heaven
one and the same.

Every morning
perched on my chair
staring at the screen
eye cocked
looking for that twitch of life
that smudge of death
blunt-chewed fingertips slipping on the keyboard.

What is this place?
What is this place
to me?
And does it matter?
Does it matter at all
to me
in the end?

© Maria Haskins

Image via Wikimedia: By Don DeBoldCamera location 37° 26′ 02.85″ N, 122° 05′ 15.14″ WView this and other nearby images on: OpenStreetMap – Google Earth – originally posted to Flickr as Hawk at Shoreline Park, CC BY-SA 2.0

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