by EMMA-JANE PETERSON
–
A kestrel rises with a vole in its claws,
rigid in a vice that defies all struggle.
A broken neck would be kinder
than this airborne terror.
Its wind-watered eyes watch
the oaks wave a sad goodbye.
Perspective shrivels and colors
become grayer by stages.
Out of reach, the river shines,
a discarded necklace of memory.
This vertical ascent numbs thought;
if only the moon was a destination.
Painkillers left beside a bedtime drink
might offer mercy. But we resist.
–
Emma-Jane Peterson lives in a leafy part of England, where nature inspires some of her work. Her poems have been published in BoomerLitMag, The Sunlight Press, The Clayjar Review, Metphrastics, London Grip, and Black Nore Review, among others.
© Emma-Jane Peterson
Halfway Down the Stairs 