Your Egret

The white bird stands
at your door.  "I'm your egret."
You hold beer in one hand,
book in the other.  You didn't
order an egret.

The egret shifts feet.
Snowball on wires.
Purity from a distance.
Up close, dirty feathers and lice.

You shut the door
and read and drink
all afternoon.

In your back yard, the egret
eats frogs:
plunge, snatch
— legs dangle from beak —
slurp, bulge.

You watch, afraid it will
clap wings
and chase you away.

The egret walks slowly.
"Don't go!" you call out.  "You're
my egret!"
The white bird stops.

First published in Faultline


Regina's picture
Hi! A few of us poets have entered animal-related poems lately in the contests. Miles Ranter entered a heartfelt dog poem today, and you've entered this charming egret poem. My Best Wishes for the contest. ☆☆☆☆☆


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