the deepening ground

We interrupt this pizza night to bring you a special guest: a Cooper’s Hawk. Admittedly, I’m not 100% sure that our visitor was a Cooper’s Hawk. My fellow writer and friend James and I spent part of our most recent Dunkin’ Drafting evening searching allaboutbirds.org trying to identify our hawk from the less than stellar iPhone photo I took through the window. (The image above is clearly NOT my photo) Ultimately, we agree on the hawk’s immaturity, but the jury’s still out on whether or not he might actually be a red-shouldered hawk.

Regardless, the visit offered an opportunity to deepen. And we did. Everyone put down the pizza and moved slowly, afraid we might scare him off. A few of us went to the computer to try and identify the hawk. Might it be a Sharp-shinned hawk? And for me, the moment lasted into the evening, when I began to scribble down some thoughts about the experience. I had considered a sonnet for the poetic form, but found that too constraining. Instead, I tried to mimic Mary Oliver’s style. If you pay close attention to the form and the volta (turning point) you will note the syllabic and rhythmic shift in the final octave. Your job is to figure out how that form fits function! But if you don’t, simply take the time to partake of “the sacrament of awe” with our unexpected dinner guest.

Dinner Guest

By Vincent H. Anastasi 2024

Tonight a Cooper's Hawk
     joined us for supper.
Coming unexpected
     we had nothing to offer,
no place at the table,
     but reservedly, he perched
on our neighbor's deck railing
     beyond our kitchen window.

We paused, finding the pizza
     less pleasing than the hawk's
soft, juvenile plumage,
     the stoic assurance
surveying his surroundings,
     then puffing himself to preen.
Time itself came to rest
     in this sudden theophany.

Could I tempt him inside
     with some fleshy morsel,
and would he willingly come
     to my upraised arm so I
might feel his talons' firm grip?
     Could I train him to come
at my call and tame him
     with routine offerings?

Far be it from me! Cursed be the thought!
     Remain wild and free!
May I never lose the wonder
    nor domesticate the intrepid spirit
that interrupted my evening meal.
    Rather let me hunger and thirst
for that which cannot be wholly explained:
     the sacrament of awe.