Tiny White Flowers

Tiny White Flowers

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Saturday Poem

So, this is the penultimate poem in my Lenten challenge. It is a poem that came to me when I was teaching at a gym that over-looked the mud flats.  I was on a treadmill that day, looking out at the wildlife so prevalent in that area, and was most captivated by this lone heron. This was my first published poem.



He blends almost fully
into the pull  of tide, a long
stretch of neck arched above folded wings.
He seems to glide backward
in meditation

with all the patience and ease
of Jesus fishing for breakfast at dawn.
His gaze piercing the surface he is lost
in the ripple of migrating waters
only to appear again, stark

as a bone of driftwood against a dark eddy.
In this moment he strikes with such grace
that I desire to imagine his prey
doesn’t suffer;  that it comes to him, willing
to die so beautifully.

--Ronda Broatch

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