Watching the pigeons

February 13, 2021 § 10 Comments

 Monday -
 on the platform again
 the day he goes to London
 breathing shallow
  
 waving i turn away
 the train gathers speed
 stiff happiness sliding off my skin
 i wait to get lost in the darkness
  
 looking skywards for strength
 I make myself a bell tower
 in this sharp bright light
 he shall be the bell.
  
  
 Just a bunch -
 a band of pigeons in the station tree
 preening
 nearly flirting 
 waiting
 for another to make the first move
  
 my husband calls them rat birds
 for taking the niger seeds i leave for the songbirds
 i suppose it isn’t really stealing.
  
  
 From behind the sun 
 a rush of air
 the hawk sharp
 a weapon grown fleet with need
  
 a jet strike deep into the branches
 i never heard pigeons shriek like this
 feathers fly and the hawk twists away
   inverts 
stalls 
a snap roll

 and is gone.
  
  
 The pigeons ruffle
 quick to forget
 settling back 
 quick to remember nothing has changed
  
 except the little hawk is still hungry
 and my breath has grown slow 
 and made more space around me
 ~
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   

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