Wednesday, March 14, 2012

March Hawks

March Hawks

Looking back on a tumultuous year
pockmarked by fevered madmen who shell
their own where they lay sheltered in a

tangle of fending arms and unheard prayers
or whore for votes, greedy preachers choking
cross-eyed on mouthfuls of hate and fear,

I gaze at the now empty nest framed
perfectly in the high window from the
vantage of the green chair, home last March

to a pair of hard working hawks, quiet,
unassuming birds who went about
the business of raising a family,

Atticus Finch personified with wings
and talons, wondering where they’d gone,
lamenting their absence, helpless against

the gnawing fear we had disappointed
them, viewed snug in our nest, mute bystanders
to the savagery of predatory saints. 

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