Poetry Here (Mostly)

Christmastime in New York


Lumberjacks trolling Oneonta 
chose a mighty Norwegian spruce,
serrated, metal teeth sheared
trunk from its aged earthy roots.

Despite the horrendous buzz
and thrum of tottering vibration, 
a timid, tiny owl stayed hidden
inside needled ramification.

Scared, secluded bird, a saw-whet,
swaying like a silver feathered bell
through Timber thundered crash
and transport in conifer that fell.

She and tree traveled together 
to Rockefeller Center; one got
decorated, other, discovered;
both were soon photographed a lot. 

Media posted “Rocky” staring,
pupils ringed by narrow iris gold. 
Cute little owl in turtle-neck wrap,
inspired ornament now being sold.  

Dehydrated, hungry and afraid, 
arrived unfit and unable to try.
In rehab, owl recuperated,
set loose, she decided to fly.

At dusk, caregivers let bird go, 
saw her take off from Saugerties,
200 miles from owl’s old home,
and Manhattan’s famous tree.

Will the owl head to Oneonta, 
I wonder if mate or mother care;
is it possible they miss and seek
her in a tree no longer there?

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