The Angel of Peace

Last May when the trees went wild I lost
so much and needed a young fox who
stooped to play with me in tall blades
of grass letting me come close just so
far and no farther to the tips of red ears
pointing up in the astonished wind

Later I tried to bribe him with chicken
hearts gizzards livers and much gratitude
for the wealth of his cautious beauty

Once he pranced so close I felt
the quivering of his nose right by
the next morsel as I sat with my back
turned reassuringly away pretending
indifference watching longing
for his already so present presence

I could have touched him had he held still
which he didn’t or if I moved quickly
enough to reach him in which case
he might have bitten me and fled forever

Not sure which of us was the more nervous
I kept my yearning back turned and my eyes
turned just enough to witness his splendor

And this is how I imagine the angel of peace
a back turned longingly hoping to win
trust loving wanting to feed with tenderness
and to seduce into acceptance

And I imagine myself like the uncertain fox
nose twitching in the angel’s direction
wanting what she offers unfamiliar
we lean into each other’s space
she with her yearning to bring me closer
I with my yearning to trust to reach
to grasp to make things possible

Beate Sigriddaughter lives and writes in New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment. Her work has received four Pushcart Prize nominations and won four poetry awards. In 2018 FutureCycle Press will publish her poetry collection Xanthippe and Her Friends.She blogs at https://writinginawomansvoice.blogspot.com/. Read other articles by Beate, or visit Beate's website.