Nancy
Prior
The rapid
beating of my heart would not subside
as the
beast’s wingspans thrashed above.
Run, run
from the shadow of doom lest
these
black-feathered aviators sense
my fright.
They are
hungry as am I, the winter offering slight.
Leaping
over snow, the brown red colors of my
coat glow
on white. Vulnerability is my foe while
dodging
here and there across a sweep of snow
refusing to
become a casualty of these birds of prey.
I shot
toward a clump of brush recognizing its color
to be that
of mine. A single crow assailed my rear
just
as I flew
into the shelter of brown and red.
Hunkering
deep – waiting for the thunder inside to calm.
Listening,
and finally, hearing squawking as my hunter
relented
flying away.
My cover
became a haven as I lay down my head.