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

 

 

 

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Forbidden Fruit

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(2015, Stephanie Foster)