by Jeanie Tomanek
The tinge of the red tail, oddly
clear from so far below.
Only a glimpse, yet it is her
spirit guardian, gliding,
closing circle upon circle.
She was once a raptor too, awl–eyed
breast fiercely full and certain of the prey.
Now hunter’s hood masks, jesses bind,
she perches, hobbled, blind, love thongs
obedience hold her fast.
Recalling slides on warm air columns,
she creeps encased in beetle armor,
red tail lights, stop signs mark
her path, measured my men’s clocks
as lost twin’s wingslice taunts.
Radio drumbeat summons tribal vision.
She dreams hollow–boned, reclaims
hooked beak, barred underbelly,
makes his wind carving wings,
wanton grace her own.
She molts tired flesh,
flexes steely talons.
Metal opens, glass rains out.
Hatched featherless, she rises, releases
a scream high and free as the diving hawk.