One Afternoon
Mary Christine Delea
A wet hawk stands on a post
as if guarding the rotted squash
in the field. Even the worms
deep underground feel its glare,
their estivation pierced by eyes
from above. In the misty rain,
the red-tailed hawk misses nothing.
She does not bother with bird feeders
in your backyard, leaving those
to other hawks. The squirrels,
rabbits, and snakes are what she seeks,
and they are aware of that fact,
of her on that perch, of their hunger
this January day. Water puddles
in the notches surrounding
the unwanted pumpkins, still visible
from the road, where I sit in my car,
dry and warm, wondering what
rodents and reptiles are squirming
out there, sensing danger,
but unable to stay hidden—the ache
of an empty stomach is painful.
Worms, although asleep, wait for spring,
for the hard ground to soften,
but winter remains. The hawk will
eventually dive down and catch
something that could no longer wait
to eat, grabbing that creature
with its talons, killing it quickly,
returning to eat on that tall pole,
that solid piece of wood
which to anyone driving by,
seems stuck in the middle
of a vast nothingness. I thought so,
too, until I stopped to eat
my lunch under the gloomy sky,
and I looked around to find
anything that would fill my mind
with something other than
my own old, rotted loneliness.
Mary Christine Delea has a Ph.D. in English/Creative Writing and is a former university professor. She currently volunteers for a few nonprofits. A native of Long Island, she now lives in Oregon. Her poems have most recently appeared in Broad River Review, Heron Tree, Ponder Review, and Black Moon. Her full-length poetry collection, The Skeleton Holding Up the Sky, was published by Main Street Press; her three chapbooks were published by different presses. Delea's website, mchristinedelea.com, includes a blog where she posts weekly writing prompts and--two times a week--poetry by other poets.