A Poem by Carol Casey

Hawk

Hawk soars near the ground,
so close I see the variegations
in her still wing feathers,
held tense to kite the wind,
silently slicing sky
into safety and peril.
Yellow beak, black talons,
economy, power
majesty, awe.

Indifferent death stalker,
motion-seeking gaze rakes earth
with unearthly astuteness.
Not evil, just nature unfolding
itself out of the pretty tales
we tell children-
A pristine harshness
where compassion is
a quick, efficient kill.

The hawk has no choosing,
must follow her essence or die.
She isn’t tainted with the curse
that causes me to stray
from majestic to mundane,
where the fallings are so dull
I barely notice.


Carol Casey lives in Blyth, Ontario, Canada. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and has appeared in The Prairie Journal, BluePepper, Back Channels, Front Porch Review and others, including a number of anthologies, most recently, i am what becomes of broken branch and We Are One: Poems From the Pandemic. Facebook: @ccaseypoetry; Twitter: @ccasey_carol; Webpage: https://learnforlifepotential.com/home-2/poetry/