CAROL McMAHON

★ ★ ★ ★

POETRY

Hawk

As silent as the snow that falls, at the edge of my sight
a heavy wingbeat and hover before the flash
of a cinnamon tail and the slow flight’s end beyond
my seeing. I shiver, imagine the hushed descent.
I remember another snow-covered day, like a white page
punctuated, all tracks ending at once, rabbit’s and mine.
The monochromatic beauty disrupted, I stopped
to puzzle out the solitary journey, the sudden scarlet
disappearance. When the next snow fell, all would be
forgotten. He who caused the blood and he who shed it—
dramatic exits, either way, necessary voids.

Resident Geese

Mid-winter in upstate New York.
Even the snow complains
about the cold beneath
my sneakers. The snow!
I convince myself that with enough
layers a run in the punishing
wind is good for me.
Three miles from home I hear
first their honking, then see
the haphazard V across the sky.
They are not heading south
but east, toward North Pond perhaps
or some farmer’s marshy field.
What reason could they have
to weather this winter?
What penance do we serve?

Carol McMahon is a teacher and poet whose work has been published, or is forthcoming, in various journals ( Blue Collar Review, IthacaLit, The Ekphrastic Review, Prodigal, Claudius Speaks, Clockhouse, Painted Bride Quarterly) and has a chapbook, On Any Given Day, published by FootHills Press. McMahon received an MFA in Poetry from the Rainier Writing Workshop at Pacific Lutheran University and, when she is not with 11-year-olds, spends her time either running or rowing.