Owl
Janine Canan
Early on you learned
to bring design to the dark.
Hiding behind the door
you watched your father shoot and kill.
You grew without the rules.
Making unsolicited observations,
you made enemies as you saw through
arrogance, villainy, frozen hearts.
But Seer, could you see through
the weave you wove
to your death? I dreamed
you ran up the stairs to greet me,
sister seer--for I too must
bring to light memories
whose faces mock us like the stars.
We embraced, and then you
stepped off the staircase.
Let's extricate ourselves
and roll to safety, I whispered.
But you swallowed the pills
and sank in the steaming tub,
leaving a note composed
as a poem: Lost--
can't find the way back.
Standing on the other shore,
a stunted figure wobbles--
grim droopy cheeks, saggy shoulders,
rusty eyes returning to sand.
No enemies now--freely she
converses with Death.
In the night I see her owl eyes
and hear her hoo-hooting.
