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AR #61 Cover
number 61

P O E T R Y
by Tracy DeBrincat

Sunday

The hawk had a squirrel up in our eucalyptus.
Mockingbirds dove at them, persistent, fluttering, loud.
Sudden chaos in my favorite tree.

“Get the camera,” you said. “This is nature up close.”
“This is bullshit,” I muttered. But I moved slowly
Toward the cabinet so as not to disturb the ruckus.

It had been one of those days-perfect and common—
Until this. We'd slept soundly and woken smiling.
No earthquakes, hauntings, or nightmares to report.

We drank coffee by the window,
Crossed our ankles and foolishly
Fell in love with towns in the distance.

The crossword delivered its usual madness:
A river up, something Latin down. Nascent
Thoughts of returning to bed. Then the screams.

We rushed to the sound,
On the lookout for carnage
That stuff we could no longer stomach on the news.

Our camera zoomed in on the hawk's bloodless eye,
The squirrel's matted fur,
The mockingbirds, brazen with argument.

We hadn't held hands for such a long time.

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