It was hunger sent the young bird into the palm tree
I saw his too-large shadowed figure and klee-klee'd,
Metallic, in my best mother Kestrel
He fell for it, inexperienced fellow,
Flew out and perched atop the pole, studying down at me.
I lectured him on the ethics of egg-stealing,
Invited him to hunt my pasture for mice as the others do,
Work up to ground squirrels, even.
A nobler pursuit than thieving to survive
Why not flourish!
I left him there after a long while,
Wondering the same for me.
for Quick and Dirty Poetry, Maya Stein's most excellent Feral Writing e-class.
As I've been receiving the prompts for Quick and Dirty each day, I've had to circle above and dive down on them, not even having the thirty minutes each to spend on a poem. Sometimes I have only five or ten minutes.
This is good, it's unruly and raw, and it gives me the opportunity to trust what comes forth. I realized this week, in responding to Maya's e-prompts, that when it comes to creativity, I no longer want to know structure. Wild is all I know. Coming to this work as a Recovering Domestic, I know that I could follow the rules, but have rewired myself in order to sink deeply into my own bones of expression, which has made all the difference. I appreciate this process much more.
Rhythm without rhyme.
Feral.