Quiet morning, before the world rises
before I ate
breakfast, a rare occurrence
now - rarely awake before noon
either out of sadness or boredom
laid off and laid up, I guess.
But I heaved myself from bed to hike
wildlife management area, no - Accokeek
take the riverview trail, blue blazed
it’s already 85 degrees, 56% humidity
air so thick it hurts
swamp weather for a swamp town
I’m sick of the news, thinking, being awake and inside
and a bumblebee passes by, hovering above the clover -
on the farm in earshot a rooster crows
he’s late.
dawn was hours ago, I know
I forgot to put my blinds down last night,
east-facing window watching the rainstorm from
the 9th floor, lightning preceding thunder,
preceding panic, preceding sleep.
Out on the boat dock it’s still, the occasional
thump of a fish getting a fly
Then, pips and a screech -
bald eagle in the tree
I think -
I don’t have my glasses and can’t afford binos
But I can tell the way it’s perched it’s hunting.
Because I am too -
hunting for contentment
peace, quiet,
safety, nature,
love, rest.
And I ask it -
what is it you’re hunting for?
Katie Eber is a graduate of Fairfield University's MFA program and Roanoke College. Her work has appeared in Hobo Pancakes, MadHat Lit, Quail Bell Magazine, Spry Literary Journal, Sum Journal, DASH, White Stag, and Garbanzo Literary Journal.
Katie lives in the shadow of the Metacomet Ridge in central Connecticut, and served as the second poet laureate of Wallingford, and enjoys good beer, good music, and good sandwiches.
Featured image by Derek Wright
