Morning affirmations

I open my kitchen blinds and

gape at the hawk,

perched on the garden lamp

at the edge of my lawn.

She notices everything with those

prehistoric, ravening eyes,

like two old stars,

charged with origin stories

far more savage than mine.

She isn’t here to sing—

She’s here to scream—

To tear meat from the bone—

To command the air to be still

beneath the dark and holy pall of her wings.

She doesn’t need approval.

She doesn’t need forgiveness.

She doesn’t need to be told she is beautiful.