Member Poem

A bird's heart beats much faster than a woman's in her breast, wrapped in bones lighter than a man's little finger. A drab finch lay gasping unconscious in a park once enjoyed by the lady of this estate. The hawk perched above her in a blackthorn hedge, knowing not what differentiated this near-corpse from all other birds in distress which naturally she was pleased to devour, eyed her suspiciously and roused contemplatively before swooping down, her lethal talons pointed directly at the small thing partially hidden by daisies. Without a second to spare, she landed just past the finch's tawny feet and stumbled a few steps. She turned, her beak opened as she leaned down, and she nuzzled her beak against the finch's head. And when the sun fell and night reigned, the lady's former huntress lay in her arms.