In the middle of the night, father
Brought me a falcon.
By morning, it ripped the wire and flew the hill
Into the highway.
When they found me in that car
My sleeve stemmed in blood,
I didn’t know what it was
I was trying to kill.
I saw a craft of orphans steaming down the river.
They were dressed in white and silent as a séance.
It was then I spoke to the bird.
Already God is shaking his black seed
Back into me.
Source: Poetry (May 2014).
MORE FROM THIS ISSUE
This poem originally appeared in the May 2014 issue of Poetry magazine