I asked a woman tonight about her owl tattoo. She told me of being in prison, of seeing the ground owls outside and caring for one who was wounded. She was the only one they allowed to approach.
Letter from a Ground Owl
I watched you wander
from wall to wall
as I lay in the dust –
I could not figure out
why so many humans
were gathered together
in one place,
no cars, phones,
nowhere they were
preparing to go.
I could not say why
I trusted you. Something
about how your eyes
peered out at me,
a child emerging
from the rubble. Your hands
were soft. They did not
hold me like a prize,
or a conquest. They knew
better, had learned ownership
from the government (addiction)
(government). They did not
trust humans either.
It was strange, leaving you,
once my strength returned.
I could feel you watching me
as I took shaky flight,
your hands at your sides
as the walls hugged you close.
I will always carry the tender sounds
that bubbled out of you
when I was weak and shivering –
I do not wonder what they mean.