Hunger Pangs
The live oak stamped
on an opaque winter sky,
its branch web intricate
as kirigami.
The chalky sky remains
unaltered,
unattended: taut, blank,
no rain in sight, no wind.
I want to put my nose to it,
rub it on my hands,
add a bauble or two
to those lofty branches.
This artist has a restless hand;
like the blue weaver that preempts
me, flitting
from thread
to thread, alighting
on this web, upsetting
the alterable quiet
with its barbaric yawp
my quiet admiration
of a plan so vastly
incomplete, it is complete:
tree and sky and me,
as I, too, dart
green silk to brown,
thoughts so loosely spun
a sudden breeze
might unravel them.
Am I a mover, shaker,
wind maker, or a naughty
jay, elbowing smaller
mouths out of my way
at the feeder?
I, too,
spit and startle,
spill seed, stuff my gullet,
flutter thoughtless across
the waiting sky,
as scared and hungry
as any.
~
Julia Wendell’s memoir, Come to the X, is being published by Galileo Press in April, 2020. She lives in South Carolina and is a three-day event rider. When she isn’t riding, she’s usually writing poems. www.juliawendell.com
