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The Hawk

by 
B. S. Allen

Passing the window in the room where I write
I see a red tail burst from a rim of oak
shutter and glide over pond and field;
around, down
in a wing-tipping breeze.

Suddenly, the bird hunches powerful shoulders
and plunges 
into the wheat
then rises, 
something plump struggles
in the hasps of its feet.  The sleek mouse
still runs, sheds ruby red
back to earth.

Too stark to watch.
Today, I stay busy,
I rise, return to my desk,
and add to the manuscript.

Later, I step from the porch, walk in shade, 
make mental notes of things to do tomorrow.
The hawk, sleepy and sated,  miles away,
comes to mind -- but more, I remember
the mouse;  how in one shocking instant
he came to long for the honey-taste of grain,
the flute of wind through the reeds,
how they would continue 
without him.

 

 

B. S. Allen resides on a small farm in Texas hill country. Her poetry and fiction credits include:  EWG Presents, MindFire Poetry Journal, The Writer's Quill, WORDS(London), Purple Inks Publication, Poetry Magazine, IPM (Internet Poetry Magazine), The Writing Lab, EMOTIONS, Maelstrom, Critique Magazine, Somniloquy, The Writer's Choice Literary Journal, and inclusions in two anthologies entitled, Heritage Blue (Poet Warrior Press, Austin, April 1999), and Links (PoetWorks Press, May 1999).

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