In those few early moments
when you went indoors to pour
more coffee, to refill your cheery
yellow mug with the blue cat
on the front, pouncing
on the blue mouse . . .
 
While I stayed outside watching
pink heavens hinting at
the yellow-and-blue day on the rise . . .
 
That was the one time
Wood Storks chose to ornament
our humble square of sky, the one time—
perhaps in your life—
you had the chance to gasp at
the broad white bodies, the elegant
white wings—black-trimmed—
sailing our mild inland winds
on their way to someone else's sky,
the naked, grey-skinned necks and
down-curved bills extended, probing
the universe for its sweet spot.
 
But you missed it.
 
My mug, though—
plain and smooth and white
as cloud, as a Wood Stork's breast—
my mug was full.
 
I saw. And I gasped.
Loudly enough for both of us.


© by Susan Rooke.
Used with the author's permission.