The guitar’s deep voice
stroked and plucked into life
wings like a broad-feathered bird
over treetops, lifting, dipping,
darting to alight on a bowing
hemlock crest. Balanced, calm
the bird settles, feathers tucked.
He scans the skies, dips his yellow gaze
to creatures below. Dismisses
any that don’t look like food.
The music builds then soars,
fingers pluck the bird into magnificent flight.
Sailing high where blue melds into white
he rides the air currents,
spins out of sight.
About the Author: Patricia Wellingham-Jones
Patricia Wellingham-Jones is a widely published former psychology researcher and writer/editor. She has a special interest in healing writing, with poems recently in The Widow’s Handbook (Kent State University Press). Chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: poems about breast cancer, End-Cycle: poems about caregiving, Apple Blossoms at Eye Level, Voices on the Land and Hormone Stew.