There’s an owl that lives on my property
and he’s out there hoo-hoot-hooing
all night long and
I wish that for a night or two I
could become an owl myself and
sit in higher branches than he and
see exactly what he sees.
I wonder if his beautifully haunting call
in the wild bunnies and other small quarry
which also live here as
Thornton Burgess imagined or if
they dumbly continue on living,
just another sound in the night until
the near-silent rustle of feathers and
claws in the back are
the last sensations they know.
As I watch from my high perch,
would I want what he has,
a full belly and
clumps of fur
stuck to my own sharp claws?
Or would I ache for the loss of
the cute and cuddly creature
he’d just dispatched so heartlessly?
I can’t help but sense a
for both sides.
The necessity and the
futile sadness of it all.
I would swivel my head around:
are there bigger, less vocal owls
above me in the dark somewhere?
Ready to steal down
upon my own soul
when I least expect it?
it would only be fitting
for one such as I.
For while my own eyes were
gazing out across a field at another
who didn’t belong to me,
as he snatched unsuspecting hearts with
his pen and deep passion and
my own self was being hunted
unbeknownst to me.
I’d set myself up as
the perfect silhouette
against a starry sky.
Ripe for the taking.
And take he did. And
plundered my soul and left me
gasping for more yet somehow also
wanting to flee.
And when I turned and looked into his
luminous eyes I realized
it was He,
the one I’d been watching all along,
for he had still somehow
snatched my own soul
right out of my feathery chest,
for there it was clutched,
pumping and bleeding,
within the tight grasp of
his own curved claws there before me.
Perhaps better to not
be an owl for a night or two.
Perhaps better to
stay hidden beneath my sheets,
His haunting call has stopped!
And I’m not sure which is
or the very lack of one.
tara caribou | ©2020
Another one from the vaults… because there’s an owl hooting outside right now as I type this out.
Writer and Artist
a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind
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The Lies in the Skies Exposed
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