lunch

a red-tailed hawk
pierces the sky
nabs the goldfinch perched
near our sunseed feeder
my heart lurches at
the violence, so
surprising and sudden
your song ripped
from the air

still-warm meat, now
bits, feed growing eyas
we all have to eat
nourish precious young
I absolve the hawk
pray the little finch has
no huddle of offspring

is it really violence?
the hawk’s native tools
sharp beak, razor talons
there is no choice—use
the means she is given
or die—grim reality
but true

I was only seven
when I noticed we all
eat each other—
life, no longer benign
the dismay, the awe
that’s the way on
our lonely blue planet
at a galaxy’s edge
it only seemed mild
but never was—
child-mind at play

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.