in the shack where the
road comes out of red
rock and sky the road
on which she arrived
one scorching noon.
In her yard under
the cottonwood they
glimpse her in a
dusty skirt with bare
feet or scuffed boots
her hair a tangled
thicket of midnight.
She looks back at them
with eyes inscrutable
as the sky between
stars a man can fall
into her eyes some
men in town never
returned from her eyes.
Usually she's got
that big wolf dog the
color of smoke and
shadow by her side.
The ravens told her
of the owl's fall.
Under their screaming
black knot she found it--
moon gold eyes blind in
sun blaze talons like
meat hooks feathers soft
as silk and lace one
wing bent. Her skilled
fingers splinted bone
and pinions the
mice that infested her
chicken coop fed the patient.
When the wing healed
the owl flew from
her hand into the
cottonwood where it
roosts her chickens peck
peacefully in its
shadow that falls on
her shoulders like a shawl.
(c)Serena Fusek 2009
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