Hilary Sallick

Feathers

Because wildfires burn    
on the other side
of the continent   
we stay inside
looking out windows
      I see through the pane
that fledglings
have left the nest
are tumbling down from branches
     Their voices pipe
connection through
the dense air      all day
this time of vulnerability    nest
to world    like egg to whole
self  
      I think dying too is a transition
but without risk   
and I remember the sound
of a hummingbird
beating the air with its wings
to call me
     I try to imagine
the feather of a hummingbird   
It must have feathers in order
to fly

Hilary Sallick is the author of Asking the Form (Cervena Barva Press, 2020) and Winter Roses (Finishing Line Press, 2017). Her poems appear in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, The Inflectionist Review, Empty House Press, Kitchen Table Quarterly, Panoply, Mom Egg Review, Ibbetson Street, and other publications. She teaches reading and writing to adult learners in Somerville, Massachusetts, and she is vice-president of the New England Poetry Club. To learn more, go to hilarysallick.com.