To a Hawk that’s Landed on my Deck – by Florence Weinberger

your stare your

on the body of death

rat or rabbit
clumped darkness

nothing to rescue, as if
I’d match my courage to your claws

I’ve known your hover
settled, you have no song

stirred breast feathers, stilled wings
grounded here as I am

eating a dull meal
left to clear the remains

of what you brought down
in the pecking order of prey and necessity

what will I tear with my bare hands
when there is everything to rage about

Florence Weinberger is the author of four published collections of poetry, the most recent Sacred Graffiti, (Tebot Bach) and Ghost Tattoo, forthcoming from Tebot Bach. Four times nominated for a Pushcart Prize, her poetry has appeared in a number of literary magazines, including The Comstock Review, Antietam Review, Nimrod, Poetry East, Solo, Rattle, Baltimore Review, Calyx, Miramar, The River Styx, Another Chicago Magazine, North American Review, and The Los Angeles Review. Her poems have also been published in many anthologies. She served as a judge for the PEN Center USA Literary Contest in 2012.

Photographer’s Note: I admire birds, large birds, especially birds of prey. This poem captures the power of the hawk.