It's just poetry, it won't bite

Power of Wild


07.13.19 Posted in today's words by

Molly Frederick’s most recent poem to appear here was “Woodpile” (June 2019).

Power of Wild
By Molly Frederick

A hawk skims low, then tips up
slightly, to land under a maple tree
in my backyard.
Impatiently—his talons reach out
to clutch and knead the gentle earth.
Clearly, he is thinking of blood and
fragile white bones that crunch
under moist, creamy meats.
Clearly, he is thinking of skin that
comes off like wrapping paper
to reveal the bright red juices of life
beneath.
The prey—to him—is already dead,
for he envisions it perfectly.
His magnificent head swivels right, then
left, then back again.
His golden eyes glow darkly above a beak
pure and silver as a cutlass blade.
Focused and glaring—he sharpens his life
with future tenses.


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