Seek ever to drink thirstily… (Pirkei Avot 1:4)
Perhaps the flailing branches
were a sign, and the hawk
bursting through a tear in the sky
was a shadow.
But starlings fled in soft explosion.
There was no time to study portents.
Alarms warned that what we’d built
to bring warmth to our house
now spewed smoke into spaces
we’d trusted for years.
I can tell you
how gorgeous that raptor was,
how shattering its feathers.
When it seized a starling
I was pierced.
But our basement was filling
with clouds of gas,
with chirps and wailing.
Help came—rescue trucks,
neighbors with shovels.
Lightheaded, gulping air, I wavered
in that moment, but tried
to reach through my thin shell
of self into this world.
I give thanks!
But it’s been a winter of drifts
laying heavy on our street,
on our neighbors’ streets.
Snow hardens into ice crust
we must pierce,
must melt into waters
to slake our thirst,
to carry us.
Art by the poet
