November 2022
Bio Note: I'm a longtime resident of Phoenix, still foreign after all these years, and still more than attached to the desert and the West. Seeking out less travelled musical paths, such as very early and contemporary, is one of my interests in which I take advantage of the internet's offerings, while watching nature overlap my urban surroundings prompted much in my new book, Poetry Mountain, which is a little bit desert and more than a bit of this part of the city close to an extensive desert mountain park.
Cooper’s Hawk
A busy morning at the feeders, finches
with the thistle seed and thrashers
eating suet. Sun. No wind. Light traffic
on the Loop. Blink and the birds are gone.
The only one remaining is the hummingbird
too small to care that in the corner tree
a Cooper’s Hawk is wrapped in silence
waiting for his chance. A pickup truck
turns left and knocks
a moment out of time as it strikes somebody walking
for whom the sky is black
and can’t remember
the sun rising this morning. One by one
the finches return as the hawk goes to the fence
and glides into memory. Yellow tape;
the ambulance; road blocked off
to clear the way for questions. A lovebird flock
all chirps and merriment
flies overhead while
the red light flashes. Time to measure, time
to reconstruct what happened. They were
preoccupied with eating while
he waited under cover
of the leaves. Some were sipping water. The siren faded.
There had been no warning. No sign
of any vehicle from the side street. Then
the shock of impact
as all the birds collided with the light
and the pedestrian stood up from
the road and said
Look, I can fly.
©2022 David Chorlton
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL