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Poem

Day and night
Over my years
I watch
This full owl body carved from the light
Of wood
With its slimly painted feathers and howling eyes 

Held in swooping flight
At an angle
On a string
From our family room
Ceiling

Circles in the heat of our furnace vent
Glides in its corner in summer breezes

That is beautiful enough

Its constant motion suspecting me
A mole
Watching TV

But there is more

This owl was born twice

Once
At the hands
Of whomever imagined
Her
Then sculpted its wings and face
Mysteriously leaving off its legs and talons

But then
From the Christmas gift
Given to me
By my four children

Who romped and stomped as a teenage gang
Into the Old Town art gallery

The owner suspicious

Ignoring
Then trailing them
Sighs of worry
Please don’t touch
The not-so-subtle mention
Of the price

Perhaps my kids were too young to understand
The insult
Pooling their coins and perseverance

But what a joy
When there is still innocence
Alive
Like that

They thought
Their dad would love an owl
And an owl was what their dad was going to have
Flying across the room
Where he spends his time

Now

And how right they were

Every day every night
Through all the seasons

I look up
With wonder
At their miraculous flight.

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