First Sighting

At Mt. Umunhum’s top, we stop to take a selfie,
me leaning into the chest of my eldest,
on this first hike widowed.

Proof of life under a cloudless sky,
jeweled topaz, my birthstone.
Invisible the rich odor of dust and holy quiet.

We choose a trail winding downward, offering
a tiny spy of sea, the assistance of gravity,
and the gift of easier breath.

Halfway, we sit on a warmed rock
sharing a silent communion in this aerial refuge,
sipping cool water from the same cup.

On the walk back up to the car I discover once again,
that in the nether of grief,
whatever I had in my pocket is gone:

a coffee card, a hanky, some change.
My mind and body still incapable of holding onto
any thing but the present.

And even that, a slim grasp.
But I accept it, the walk has been a balm
and these things are replaceable.

The drive back down the mountain deliberate,
quiet; my son taking the SLOW sign seriously.
A curve ahead reveals four crows

lining the dull roadside rail;
the kind that tempt careful drivers
to feel safe, secure.

Wow, so huge!” I say to Chris.
I have never seen crows so huge!
Most scatter to the sky as we approach.

But one remains, turning its head on cue,
slowly to stare, a zealot.
Our crow transforms itself into vulture,

a bird that feeds on frail bodies.
Sharp curves refuse the relief of a fast escape.
We hold our breath,

everything paused while three feet away
sit talons trained to grasp the injured as prey.
The vulture is still.

As is time.
Or at the very least, slowed down,
the air weighty on our tongues.

When we exhale,
What was that?
For four months I‘d been hoping for a token.

A message.
I kept telling myself, he’s tired.
Let him rest.

But I craved a sign.
That he was well.
That he cared for me still.

At my son’s home I research.
And there it is: Turkey Vultures are known
in the Caribbean Barbados as

“John Crow.”
So like him to take the form
of a bird that loves the sun.

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At the age of seven, Kathleen O’Brien received a tiny memo pad intended to contain her wee poems about fairies. And from time to time, she did write poetry, mostly unseen by others. Meanwhile, she is more widely known for publishing books, articles, and papers on the benefits
of sustainable building, and tending to the health of our planet and the people trying to make a life on it. She is mostly retired and lives on Bainbridge Island, Washington.