Honorable Mention: Sighting
Standing at the counter
spooning in the last
morning muesli,
I catch a flash of white
atop a tall pine, another
needle-snagged plastic bag.
No, I think I see a beak
preening breast feathers,
how’s a topper branch
holding the weight of that thing?
I want to see the wingspan
so I stay on it as I chew
more oats and berries.
It’s looking for meat,
scanning backyards
and sidewalks, any place
something small and furry
might scamper
for curbside trash.
How does it know
it’s garbage day?
I forget until I hear
the puff of truck brakes
and think our cans will
have to wait a week;
then it takes flight—
five feet of raptor wing
caught in a cool current,
and all I want is to soar
with nothing but my hunger
and a hawk-eye-view
of a promise as blueberry
blue as my emptied bowl.