Heron - Grace Massey

the heron is my mother
legs of straw, blue
ashen shadow of a bird,
eyes distant lakes
focused on an undiscovered shore

the heron
is my child, haunting
moss-covered rocks
beneath a shattered bridge
that no one dare cross

the heron is me
twigs for legs
humped back, paper
skin beneath a smattering
of feathers

I have often watched the heron
rise, great cobalt
wings circling, soaring
to infinite streams
cerulean shores yet returning

for today at least, catching
a minnow to flick
into its graceful throat,
drying its magnificent wings
in the sun

Grace Massey has an MA in English and worked for over thirty years as a social studies editor in educational publishing. An avid traveler, she takes classes in classical ballet and socializes shelter cats. Her poetry has been published in Spry, Ekphrastic Review, and Vita Brevis, among others, and is forthcoming in Amethyst Review and Thimble. She is working on a chapbook tentatively titled Woman in a Borrowed Garden about family and loss. Grace lives in Massachusetts with her husband, a retired lawyer turned avid hiker.