peregrine
for Heurodis
there are talons digging into
my wrist, through the white leather glove
he has given me, and a feather,
locked claw-to-skin, that has fallen
loose from her wings,
her beautiful blue-and-white feathers
and
wings that ruffle in river-wind and tangle
in horse-hair
when we ride:
when we ride, we are at the front
of all the other women, and we are free.
he has given her to me, too.
he has given us ten years to learn and love
each other, me and her:
me and her blue-and-white feathers that
smell of river-water and duck-blood.
today, i do not throw her towards the stream.
the other women throw their birds towards
the cormorants and herons and ducks:
how well-trained they are, dropping
fresh hunt into laps and saddlebags, how
obedient and well-trained:
how well-trained to sit atop pure white horses with the white gloves and white peregrines he has given us, and throw our birds at the stream and lure them back, and ride
back to the castle with empty saddlebags and
tear-stained cheeks: how well-trained
peregrines are.thoughts coming tomorrow!
art by Tom Ledger (google images)