Poems by Sara Letourneau

Osprey at Bass River

by Sara Letourneau

From Canary Winter 2018-19

Sara lives in the Charles River watershed in southeastern Massachusetts. She also frequents the Cape Cod watershed to visit family and take in the beaches, marshes, wildlife, and other natural wonders of the region.

Look at how it stands tall at its nest,
a watchful sentry, quiet until
it opens its black, hooked beak and chirps
its kettle-whistle call. When it alights,
the thrash of its wings is palpable,
a heartbeat in my ear.

And look how it flies!
With its brown wings bowed, its primary feathers
splayed like fingers, its white crown
and vest on proud display. Its golden eyes
fix upon the water below
before it hovers, briefly but patiently,
then dives cliff-steep, feet first,
shattering the surface with a splash.

And as it rows itself upright,
climbs into the air with a fish in its talons,
its poise does not falter
and the tempo of its flight,
a keen and vicious pulse, does not slow.
This hunt, this knowing that something
is about to die, should make me flinch,
and yet the act is so graceful,
so flawless, that I cannot look away.

How does such a thing exist?
A raptor that is wilder than a dream
does not frighten me, but rather
swoops into view and snatches my breath
the way it would snatch its prey.

Then again, the world is bursting
with contradiction.
Darkness cannot be without light,
love without hate, death without life.
And here is this king of the river,
this artful thief,
taking what it needs to survive
and leaving a gift in its wake.