My enemy had hatched her young,
Made real the heady boasts she’d sung,
And when I saw the cherished thing,
I vowed it would not fly or sing.
My talons tightened in its fluff.
Their points were digging deep enough
That blood and dung and shrieks sprang out –
This wasn’t what I’d thought about
All those weeks in my moldy hollow.
No, by all rights it didn’t follow
That, blood to blood, its heart, my pulse
Battered each other. It convulsed
Against no claws or hard joints now
But two plain, helpless hands. Yet how –
When, quickly as a lamp is lit,
It grew, then slashed and gouged and bit
Up in the harrow …