Eyrie – published in Northwords Now Autumn 2021
Eyrie i): The evening we went to ring the eaglet with the bird man
She-eagle came in straight and low
red grouse gripped, flash-
landing in bracken and scree
detonating pulse of eaglet cries
It’s on the ground shit
the thunderstorm this morning,
chick must’ve jumped, they’re scared of thunder.
It needs to be back in the nest to survive,
it’s still two, mebbe three weeks off fledging
I climbed, climbed
pulse of eagle against clavicle,
translucent scales laying down on arms,
chest, in the hollow of my throat
scent of first fire
buzz of flies
yellowest eyes
up, up, and all the time
above
she-eagle stalwart
in treacherous blue
we left the eyrie quickly,
walked hopeful across heather
slugs gentling under decay of bog cotton
scales are still falling from my skin, my eyes
Eyrie ii)
Nothing so quiet
as an empty eyrie
in the smir we share
one pair of binoculars
a small brown bird
flutters down the rock-face
loosening last hopes
for an eagle chick
that leapt too soon
from a thunderclap
Eyrie iii)
The bird man texted
video footage of the eagle chick
was harrowing
Its damaged neck meant
it could only see the world upside down,
meant it couldn’t swallow and digest,
meant it couldn’t regurgitate pellets
I think of the parent bird,
trying past twisted cries,
trying until all went quiet
how after that concavity of time
she carried the body - now the slightest thing,
to a discreet location
the bird man texted
we never find eagles that die of natural causes
I find that unaccountably consoling