The bird is safest in its nest;
O’er all that flutter their wings and fly
A hawk is hovering in the sky;
“Song” by Longfellow
I love each bird I see, the small
sparrows in the bush
and the grackles in grocery
store parking lots but I never
see them at home. I’m dissatisfied
with those I love, which means
dissatisfied with myself.
I am not a bird. I am the
hawk that hovers.
Maybe, the hawk
doesn’t see itself as dangerous
until it sees its talons
with blood on them. Maybe,
I just want to be full instead
of hungry and birdseed is not
enough. A hawk has been chastised
for killing something it
could not finish as a meal.
Birds ought to sing more,
but the hawks are killing them
and what is there left to sing for.
When I miss my sister I sing,
unlike a bird, and pretend that
I am home but I am never sure
where that would be. My sister,
bird like, sings all the time,
probably, and knows her home
is not with me. I wonder if
we’ve sung the same song
at the same time and not known
the other was singing.
A bird’s heart is at least
the size of my thumbnail
though hawks’ hearts are most
likely bigger and beat
harder when their mouths
water. If hawks have tongues
at all I’m sure they use them
as I do, to mock and pick
at others through windows
or when passing cars
with friends in them or
in photos where they’re
worried they don’t look
their best so they may
as well look silly and unlovable.
Hawks have been known
to drown their prey
because it is very hard to sing
underwater and birds
cannot see anything
but what the hawk
wants them to
and this winter I asked
my sister if I could visit
her and she said that she
understood I was having
a hard time but she did
not want me there.
O’er all that flutter their wings and fly
A hawk is hovering in the sky;
“Song” by Longfellow
I love each bird I see, the small
sparrows in the bush
and the grackles in grocery
store parking lots but I never
see them at home. I’m dissatisfied
with those I love, which means
dissatisfied with myself.
I am not a bird. I am the
hawk that hovers.
Maybe, the hawk
doesn’t see itself as dangerous
until it sees its talons
with blood on them. Maybe,
I just want to be full instead
of hungry and birdseed is not
enough. A hawk has been chastised
for killing something it
could not finish as a meal.
Birds ought to sing more,
but the hawks are killing them
and what is there left to sing for.
When I miss my sister I sing,
unlike a bird, and pretend that
I am home but I am never sure
where that would be. My sister,
bird like, sings all the time,
probably, and knows her home
is not with me. I wonder if
we’ve sung the same song
at the same time and not known
the other was singing.
A bird’s heart is at least
the size of my thumbnail
though hawks’ hearts are most
likely bigger and beat
harder when their mouths
water. If hawks have tongues
at all I’m sure they use them
as I do, to mock and pick
at others through windows
or when passing cars
with friends in them or
in photos where they’re
worried they don’t look
their best so they may
as well look silly and unlovable.
Hawks have been known
to drown their prey
because it is very hard to sing
underwater and birds
cannot see anything
but what the hawk
wants them to
and this winter I asked
my sister if I could visit
her and she said that she
understood I was having
a hard time but she did
not want me there.
Catherine Ragsdale is a writer living in Baltimore. You can find her at catherineragsdalewriting.com or in your study reshelving books.