One mourner
by Andrea L. Alterman



You stood,
a great blue heron
broken winged,
knobby legs,
long neck,
an awkward stance,
your hands in fists
in pockets deep
enough that all
I saw were lumps,
not the bitten down nails,
not that horrible tremor
which made goosebumps
on your arms,
had you clench your jaws
neatly, molar atop molar,
you stood, alone
against a wall,
outlined in white light,
stark, your shoulders
down around your chest,
you tried not to breathe
too loud, silent
you remained
as the heron watching
rippling water waits
until it can spear
that fish or let it go
as shadows from feathers
end in glaring light,
a trap inescapable,
sprung broken wing
or not.

by Andrea L. Alterman





Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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