I look up to see the crash landing
from the dining room window
descending too fast without grace
a female red-tail hawk meets the ground hard
sharp eyes, claws, beak—
one shoulder bone jutting out
under the skin at an unnatural angle
A wild animal, looking bewildered,
here among the even rows
the cultivars
the yard’s fat domestics
who supply us with eggs
I can tell she’s dismayed, and
trying not to show it
I think, where did the wild in me go?
the unapologetic ice blue gaze
that missed nothing
the one who could soar in vast circles
above the restless activity, the mundane,
the leaden routines—
the buoyant one who could catch an updraft
and simply float—
When did my broken wing
bind me to earth?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Colleen West is a psychotherapist by day and a writer by night. She is fascinated with the workings of the human mind and heart against a backdrop of a rapidly changing global landscape. She co-authored Understanding Trauma: an illustrated guide for people facing childhood trauma in 2018. She is working on an illustrated guide for survivors of sexual assault in India, as well as her first volume of poetry. She lives in El Cerrito, California with her beloved husband and her beautiful but recalcitrant dog Sky.