Owls on either side of the house
in the coolest hour of a summer night
when I wake to bend and draw
up the sheet at the foot of the bed—
relay, pause, relay, then move on a little
further. I track them, one with each ear,
owls in stereo, and then follow
the zippering rasp of their fledglings
into the same dark, branch by branch.
I wait until the air has stilled once more
before stretching, elbows pointed
away from my ribs, letting a small
sigh that won’t wake you escape, and wonder
what on Earth I would ever do without you.
____
Michael Metivier (he/him) is a writer, editor, and musician living in Vermont. His work has appeared in EcoTheo Review, LAAB, jubilat, Crazyhorse, and African American Review, among other journals, and is forthcoming in Bennington Review and Northern Woodlands.
Moist Poetry Journal 