The field and I found ourselves lonely and lachrymose on the lane when, on cue, a swallow from a disused red stable sliced through salty spring air.
Swooping suddenly, it rose to lick the sun, picking off the verdant field’s evening insects in midair before settling on an electrical wire.
I swallowed, teared up, as the bird preened for some time, while a sleepy fawn lie in golden grass across the road, its chewing slow and calculated.
Off the swallow went, diving, its artful V-tail feathers flicking, cutting into careless air, as if the season’s sluice had been raised— water flooding open, eager mouths, water streaming from indebted eyes.
Mark Strohschein is a Washington state poet who lives on Whidbey Island. His work is forthcoming in Flint Hills Review, Cosmic Double, and Plants and Poetry’s anthology, Plant People, Vol. 3. His poems have also appeared in Lips Poetry Magazine, In Parentheses, Quibble, and a poetry anthology, Dulce Poetica. You can connect on Facebook. at www.facebook.com/markstrohschein.
EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING:
Swallow - Monolink