Treasure Island

Francis Santaquilani


Anti-St. Francis


Echoes and
The blue jay sorties
Suddenly cease.
One last battle cry
Slips, spins
Into distant,
Icy woods,
Sliding just under
The rigid curtain
Of special silence
That slams down
Before snow falls.

A blue jay on the pine!
I aim through open window
And screen, aiming.
Except for this,
Except for this,
Nothing's happening.
Pop!
Blue jay down, down,
Like an icicle
Straight down,
Splitting frozen air,
Brittle branches,
Pine needles, my
Dissipating breath,
Into a reserved spot
In virgin snow,
Between pine cones
And brown leaves.
Beak, feet skyward.

A cardinal in a bush!
Sparrows suddenly drop, hop,
Squirrel claws scrape bark.
Echoes resume,
Cold wind again.
Snowflakes finally fall,
Wafting in front of the red barn door.

Submitted: Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Edited: Tuesday, November 01, 2005
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