I don’t always know a falcon
from a hawk
but as feathers fall
I tote them home in my shirt pocket
poke brown black cream striped
of a softness beyond silk
of patterns beyond Audubon
tuck them all into slight curve of
sun-dried drifted stick so that
small sculpture of silky sky scrapers seems
to be a pen set on my desk.
Once, Dad brought home a white feather quill
pen from a museum shop.
Just to show you how
they scribbled Way Back When.
At college I made a boyfriend mistake
and gave it away.
Is it possible that soaring sky scrapers
above this St. Marks Marsh
receive messages to
drop fresh pens my way?
Poem by JG Annino
JG Annino, an MFA graduate of Hollins University, helps birds & bees, plants & trees, fauna & fish. She organically planted lemon & avocado pollinator saplings, which now provide fruit in her tiny suburban garden. JG won the Florida Book Awards for a lyrical children’s nature title, SHE SANG PROMISE.