POETRY
Omens
Free verse poem about a dream, an omen, and a promise
In the dream, I see a golden hen.
Deep crimson between her wings,
One folded at an awkward angle.
Her flockmates shove red beaks at her,
Circling her, a cacophony of garbles.
My heart, bereft of sleep, staggers its beating.
Slowly, she succumbs. She droops her head,
Spreads her wings in a wide, slow acquiescence.
I gasp to the surface of sleep as they eat her alive.
I drink my morning coffee in the sun,
Pollen swallowing my toes. It is too quiet.
The pond ripples in the wake of turtles.
I walk barefoot, grasses a dry ache against my soles.
And then I see it, you again. This time the omen is small.
Chickadee? Headless, it’s hard to tell. Oh, sweet bird.
Black-capped no more, songless fodder for ants.
Quercus alba, I recall. In the trunk’s footed gape
Nestles a first clutch, scavenger’s score.
Pinus strobus houses red-shouldered chicks,
Up high, they scream for more.
