The sky is festooned with twinkling
to welcome the loon.
In a black and white tuxedo,
she lands on night's great tarmac,
as if it were dark waters,
and is forever marooned.
With clumsy gait,
she must defend a strange territory,
no longer a torpedo shot from submarine.
Unable to dive,
to stab at stars with her bill,
to swallow the unlucky constellations
that chance to swim by.
With a burgeoning belly of white,
the loon will flap her wings uselessly
late into the chilly night.
She has no choice
but to lay her precious clutch in plain sight.
The sky is no island;
its mud flats dried.
Her voice like native flute,
hollow as a runway,
calls back her mate,
but their is no echo to her mournful tune.
The isolation maddening,
her wistful voice finds no reply.
©2024 | K.F. Hartless
Cover Art: “Nouveau Loon Moon” Kari Vick Ink
Prompt: Write a poem about, or involving, a superhero. While I realize it’s not a traditional sort of hero, I personally think all mothers are superheroes, including the brave mother loon nesting above me this evening.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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