Hawks in Calgary
It was the week the mail carriers
were wearing bicycle helmets,
that stifling August, summer’s fatigue,
all thoughts of hat hair banished
by the third split scalp.
I sat by the fan, wrote a love letter in five
verses, watched the mail carrier with
new boldness march the lane til one
alpha falcon talon-smashed to bits and
chin-strap the brave blue polycarbonate.
After awhile, the mail stopped coming
altogether. Given avian strafing,
the city allowed it. Diverted funds to study
why hawks were flocking and how they’d
discovered their natural enemy.
So maybe it wasn’t that you stopped writing.
Bad timing is all. Though I can see how
it might have scared you: the way
you just waved and I
swooped right in.
Sooner or later, they will fly south in
your direction, beyond us both.
All I do now is look out the window,
watching their wide, smooth circles.
Nobody comes or goes.