The Wild, Wild East

Black crow’s
harassing white-tailed hawk again,

arctic cold
dangling icicles from their wings when

they fail to
flap, gliding in the spinning wind.

It’s ripped
their wings and rattled their brains.

I’m not
going out, not me.

Round brown
sparrow’s flown right down junco’s hungry throat,

the arctic
cold drifting snow over spring’s lean offerings, and when

they plunge
off the feeder and lose their seat at the table,

nuthatch and
chickadee snatch their seeds and spittoon the hulls.

I’m not
going out, not me.

Red-capped woodpecker
and cardinal watching, wind-whipped,

perch on
arctic-iced twigs and dream that when

their
feathered ‘friends’ smash each other to the ground,

they can snatch
a bite and reel back to the safe, soft pines.

I’m not
going out, not me.