Night Bird (poem)
Night Bird
Are you only flying for a season, night bird
The owl’s talon in the gloaming takes you
And the rat’s wary eye sees a feather
Fall by moonlight as he noses through
A quart jar’s broken neck
This to a stumbling knee is bloody tragedy
But who grubs away at the burning place
by night
Not a word but the shovel cuts
The prickles overarching
Not a word but the crunch of glass is
noise enough
Here in the ash pile is a bone
wormed like scrimshaw
Two molars mark it for a jaw
The digger heaves it in among
the massing bramble stalks
The lantern flares and flares again
A haunch and whipping tail shroud it
For a second
For a second
The owl calls like a factory whistle,
like a ship in fog
Pierces its long note that dies
like the night bird’s
Jug, jug, jug
Like the plunge of a heavy weight from a height into
water
Forbidden Fruit
(2015, Stephanie Foster)