I asked Daphne Davies if I could share this piece with all of you and she graciously agreed.
 |
| Photo by Jai Sondhi on Unsplash |
Eagles for the Quarantine
Here we are at home, pinned
Like specimens to the board of our fears. We flinch
Against tiny, sharp points. Maybe tomorrow
We'll cut free for a walk. Today
We fix here, the house our lodgepole, lodestone--
Lodestar? Cans are stacked against the pantry door
So it barely closes. In the freezer, half chickens,
Wrapped chops shove against tubs of stiff soup.
What have we made of our time, we ask? This temporal
Backwater, not of repose but vigilance: wash, swab,
Clean, launder, sweep. The stacks of unread books
Never so straight.
I step out onto the porch in search of warmth;
It's been so cold and dreary, late into the year.
People are dying everywhere; we cannot touch
The children, nor, really, each other. The sky
Is impossibly blue. Wheeling there, six eagles!
Seven! "Ian," I call, "Come quick!"
They slowly circle: tilt, fall, rise.
But as is so often the case, by the time he gets out,
They're gone.
The only thing I can show him is the
Inscrutable firmament, the sun on our backs,
A place where moments before there was a crown of eagles.
Daphne Davies
(C) 3/22/2020 v.2 3/27/2020
Comments