The hawks
circled close
as a congregation praying
for a child;
wings so close it looked
as if they may have
been issuing a silent prayer with
fingers tightly knit,
and my eyes watched as they circled
closer and closer
to whatever animal was wounded in the
wood;
to whomever would become their prey—
perhaps, it was wrong of me,
but I prayed it would get away, for I have
never liked how cruel the circle
of life was;
and I never forgave the wild
for the two cats it took from me,
both to the hands of ravenous coyotes
dad missed with his shotgun—
I wanted to be Artemis;
rip them apart with the claws
of bears.
