two poems
black egret
The trapper follows the creek,
wet boots ringing with each step,
the sky like an iridium clock.
All traps are empty save one,
the weir-net strung like jewelry
across the creek’s neck before it
plunges toward the falls.
The trap glints, bulges, a large
black egret entangled within.
The trapper kneels, slowly
extricates the creature, which
nips at his hands, drawing blood.
He carries it then drooping
in his arms back home.
Night has fallen, his wife and
children already in bed. Gruel
for dinner, a bowl saved for him.
Later, lying beside his wife, he
hears the egret’s cry from the shed
where he’s confined it, wing
broken but on the mend.
His wife also hears and kisses her
husband, and draws him nearer
her breast. Toward dawn, careful
not to wake her, he goes to the
shed. The egret, quiet, stirs,
lifts its long neck, catches his
eye. It will live, he thinks, then
shuts the door.
A black egret is a rare thing,
saving it good luck. If today
his traps are empty, he’ll slaughter
it, nonetheless. Again he follows
the creek, the weir slick with
exhalations, with a foul, ravenous
light. The falls roar. He stands
by the edge.
In the sky, a flock of egrets, hundreds,
white and black, tumble, wings glinting,
against the sun.
path to the river
Often I wake before dawn,
take the path to the river,
passing others, also sleepless,
people I don’t know but should,
neighbors, I think, or friends
lost for years. They wield
flashlights, hunker in small groups,
searching, or leaving tokens
for others to find. I feel like a guest
who’s come giftless, hands pale
and smokey. At the river, I kneel,
wait for the waters to rise, reveal
their secret bounty. Instead, I see
my house reflected, small, distant.
From the bedroom window,
a shadow beckons.
“Black Egret” first published in Fantastic Imaginary Creatures (ed. Gerry LaFemina, Madville Publshing).
Artwork: from Jan Jonston’s Historiae Naturalis De Avibus Libri VI. (1650). Reprinted with permission from The Public Domain Review.
