She Hawk

A Mother poem from Crone's Cairn

She Hawk

by jlynn

~

From my blue Adirondack, I see all too well.

The hill looms daunting, above where I dwell.

A task I want not to deal with this day.

Enough with my chores; they stand in my way.

~

Trees are now trimmed, not so thick but still high.

From somewhere above, she continues to cry.

The hawk she is calling and I try to ignore her.

Her calls grow louder; she insists I explore her.

~

Her screeches beseech. They stir and awaken.

A shiver of longing is suddenly shaken.

I clench my eyes closed; my ears remain open.

The screech should move on, or so I am hoping.

~

My she hawk—she circles and swoops,

then circles and soars.

She comes close, then grows distant,

but never nevermores.

~

My hawk—how she soars and she swoops and she climbs—

repeating the message time after time.

My hawk—she screeches her message to me

as she rises and dives, urging me free.

~

Now finding peace,

near that damned hill in the back,

she circles beyond

the Adirondack.