Barred Ow By Samantha Ainsworth
i Bird nets span the vineyard. False ceiling, taut as a trampoline— room for a tractor’s windpipe to pass.
A jack-rabbit scrabbles across fieldstone, bobs with heartbeat.
A barred owl blacks out the moon, stoops, and catches a talon in polyethylene.
He lurches, snarls and bates.
Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?
ii The owl, breast feathers pressed in mesh, blinks down at us, wary as a husband awaking in a strange bed.
Perched on ladders, we pull on cowhide gloves, point our scissors— snip like surgeons.
Still as taxidermy, he crouches, clubfoot, twined.
The net barely bows, and I hammock him in both palms— light as a moth.
iii The final strand severs.
The raptor pounces at the air with hunger— hangs aloft, tucks in his talons, puffs his chest.
Wings bloom. Like oars through the Salish Sea, two strokes and he’s roosting in the crook of the red cedar.
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Barred Owl
Barred Ow
By Samantha Ainsworth
i
Bird nets span the vineyard.
False ceiling,
taut as a trampoline—
room for a tractor’s
windpipe to pass.
A jack-rabbit scrabbles
across fieldstone,
bobs with heartbeat.
A barred owl blacks out
the moon,
stoops, and catches
a talon in polyethylene.
He lurches,
snarls
and bates.
Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?
ii
The owl,
breast feathers pressed in mesh,
blinks down at us,
wary as a husband
awaking in a strange bed.
Perched on ladders,
we pull on cowhide gloves,
point our scissors—
snip like surgeons.
Still as taxidermy,
he crouches,
clubfoot, twined.
The net barely bows,
and I hammock him in both palms—
light as a
moth.
iii
The final strand severs.
The raptor pounces at
the air with hunger—
hangs aloft,
tucks in his talons,
puffs his chest.
Wings bloom.
Like oars
through the Salish Sea,
two strokes and he’s roosting
in the crook of the red cedar.