Sparrow Hawk

I set out to tame you rare hawk of the plain holding fast your down wings your beak thrusting hard into my too eager thumbs, I bleed back into your underbelly while you look scornfully indifferent at me not wanting you to be a dead model I let you writhe yourself free twisting , screaming into the whimsical air why be a collector when I can now fly?

Diane Stevenson Schmolka (first written: Feb. 1973, revised: fall 2006)

<< Shifting | ToContents | Taken Aback >>

Page last modified on December 27, 2014, at 08:30 AM