Heron, stay sacred.
At the long edge of the lake,
I spy you. Even
from these branches in dense brush,
you radiate. I covet.
Ground padded with white
pine needles, bed for eyeing
surface of water
and storm-rattled sky at once.
Reflection of wing flap, breeze.
Have you yet noticed
me hopping dutifully
here like a maiden,
a maid. You seek and you wait
but it’s not for me, is it?
Dear Heron, this new
day, I’m emboldened. I strut
near your nest, pecking.
Can I clean or fetch
prey? May I hunch at your feet?
They say the savior
rode in a procession of
palms and hosanna.
Rushes and reeds, hidden nest,
fish multiply, and we eat.
–
Autumn McClintock lives in Philadelphia. Poems of hers have recently appeared in The Account, Cimarron Review, Denver Quarterly, and The Georgia Review, among others. Her chapbook, After the Creek, was published in 2016. She is a staff reader for Ploughshares and poetry editor of Doubleback Review.