Hawk, a poem-essay

I watch for her. A hawk. When I enter the park, I walk along the well-trodden paths—some of

gravel, others of pavement. I wander into the wooded parts; where the trees make a canopy

above me, where I can no longer see the skyscrapers closing in on me. Here, my breath deepens,

my heart softens, my feet sink into the earth. My eyes become curious. They search—long—for

the winged beauty. The great flying giant that graces my presence more often than I deserve.

Then, when I become tired and restless and feel like going home, I see her. A red-tailed hawk. I

spot her on a branch of a sassafras tree. She sits, bracing the tree’s arm with her talons, her eyes

piercing as she scans the ground, looking for life below. She hunts for blood. Her presence

palpable, fierce. I feel in myself an awakening. A life force bursting forth from inside me. The

hawk, my teacher.