The Owl, The Moon, Me

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1

I am thinking of the snowy owl again;
last night, its shadow moved across the wall.
This doesn’t mean the raptor was actually in here,
I accept these things; like I don’t argue with a scarlet sky
falling into the ocean at night,
or a white cow of a moon bossing the tides around.

A glass of amontillado helps, too.
It’s my fear and my hope—
the thing will haunt someone else’s dark hours.
Tomorrow, it may come back, if the wind is blowing hard.

“I was just so very tired,” he will say,
"after I lost my bearings on a snowbank
these wings became a burden to me.
I will rest on this bureau dresser awhile.

Spare me, I would reply, I’ll take those wings, if you’re tired of them.
Reader, I know you’re thinking: This is all about dead people, isn’t it?

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Yes I do believe that’s exactly what the owl would do. Whimsically perceptive.

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Thank you, Tom, I edited out that bit, I didn’t feel it was what I wanted to say. Thank you, though!

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And the snow owl lives in both our worlds. How we share those wings in that liminal time and space. Marcel

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5

Hi Trish, you seem to have mixed feeling here, there’s a note of ambivalence, which makes the poem more interesting.

I had a thought about the first lines, I keep tripping up at ‘again’ Maybe this…

‘I am thinking of the snowy owl, how its shadow moves across
the wall. This doesn’t mean the raptor is here.’

Sorry, I change one word and it snowballs…

I accept this; like I don’t argue with a scarlet sky
falling into the ocean at night,
or a white cow of a moon bossing the tides around.’

I love that ‘white cow’ image. Cows can be very bossy.

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Hi David, I’m so glad to see you. Thanks for all of your thoughtful suggestions, which do make the poem a lot tighter. I’ll give those all a mull over. Good to see yo u!
Trish

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