POETRY
Loons after Dark
Waking at 2:00am,
Loon calls diffuse in the dark, drowsy air—
“crazy laughs” trembling in alarm.
Call after call,
Echo after echo,
Wingbeat after wingbeat
Gathering speed on the watery runway—
Guffawing their departing calls, shimmering through the trees
Silence appears—sleep returns once more.
Sun peaks over the treetops
A young loon’s first wail,
A day begins.
​
- anonymous
Loss
Went to the mountain peak within me.
Hardy bushes are there too, clinging to the wet rock in cold embrace.
Quiet rain drops assemble together in crevices, moistening the moss within,
Lonesome bird calls seeking an ally within, calls back seeking an ally without.
Victories are won here, aboard this mountain top
“Aaaaiiiuuu!” their calls whispered from this place, only heard by slumbering squirrels.
Others are torn apart, brains and backs and breath buried beneath burdensome baggage.
The indigenous goddess of the mountain top pounces on the unassuming, the undeserving,
Her victories, their losses as babbling brooks emerge from their bodies
Flowing, flowing—pure water for conquistadors to taste.
- anonymous
