Lincoln Frees The Owls
Your father had
a cloud of blackbirds,
your mother a wake
of buzzards. You
were more ambitious.
You wanted Athena's owls,
or else to play Lincoln. You
had the bones for it, and you
bought the hat, but feathers
stuck in your throat
when you began to speak
about emancipation.
The owls never complained
about the long hours
you made them be still
on your lap, the skinny mice
you gave them. (It was
unfortunate about the butterflies,
but an owl has to eat.)
In the end we left you,
the owls and I, in front of
the Ford Theater where later
we would all find out
what it means to be really free.
February 2022
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