The Missing Hawk
I shouldn’t be so worried about a hawk.
I keep dreaming of her falling from the sky
barreling and twisting with wings spread,
careening so fast her red tail flashes by
and fills my vision with feathers
that make me think of rust and blood.
My stomach is in knots as I drive
past her regular hunting spot
to find the perch empty again.
I know it’s silly. To worry.
She’s wild. She’s just moved on,
irritated after an eager farmer
bush hogged all the broom sage down
and the tasty little field mice
took off for better cover.
I’m worried about her,
a broad shouldered red tailed beauty
out there in the air on her own.
10 thoughts on "The Missing Hawk"
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The vivid imagery and metaphor adds to the poems emotional impact. I feel a sense of reverence and appreciation for the natural world when I read this. Thanks for sharing!
I’d cut that first line. It’s beautiful that the speaker is worried about the hawk.
your empathy for the hawk is amazing:
…farmer
bush hogged all the broom sage down
and the tasty little field mice
Good one. Conjures Jeffers.
The voice in this poem is superb. From the opening line through the end, there’s this debate between the rational mind and emotional attachment to the hawk that you’ve captured so well. Speaks to the every day experience of being human.
I love how you’ve built a story out of her absence.
I love this, especially the end.
Wonderful poem, so moving.
Still haven’t seen her y’all. Still looking.
Love this title. I keep picturing the empty branch and scouring scrub in my mind