Eight Lessons in Training a Goshawk

photo credit: Chris O'Reilly

I
First, I had to become invisible,
so she could learn to accept me.
We sat the difficult, patient,
excruciating hours together,
her hooded, at times, for calmness,
my eyes averted,
until she could be with me unmasked,
without fear.


II
Next, I had to make her hunger,
so when I offered food 

on my extended fist
she would come to me.
This was a dance that took some time
to choreograph.


III
I did not know,
until she laughed,
that goshawks were capable
of play.


IV
We walked the hill to the field in dread,
her on my arm,
she because she was terrified,
I because I feared
she'd fly away.


V

The hardest thing to learn
was trusting
she'd return.

VI

It took many fails a day
for a week,
her falling, hobbled,
to the ground,
angry and glaring,
and then we got it right -
she flew right to me.


VII
In the brambles,

her first time loose,
caught by the bracken,
her yellow eyes
looked to me
for rescue. Trust.


VIII
I thought I was training her
to be a goshawk,
but she was teaching me
to unite my wild and human parts,
until my spirit rose
from its bed of grief

and flew.


for Grace's prompt at Real Toads: to write a poem in the style of, or inspired by, Wallace Stevens. I loved his Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird so much that I tried to echo his format, though likely I am no where near his style. As I am currently reading a most wonderful book, H is for Hawk, by Helen Macdonald, about the training of a goshawk, I stuck with birds.

Day 12 of the poem a day April challenge