Featured Poem 10/19/01:

Talking to Owls

A Great Horned Owl
I mimic from the porch
ignores me.  Grandfather
speaks Polish to my father
like water rushing in my ears.
Only the brief orange glow
of cigar tobacco
lights each face,
two moons
glimpsed through smoke
their whispers float
down the Menominee.
Hushed by my father
I curl like a mouse
beneath his dark wing

© 1990 Ron Czerwien


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