Lily Tobias

Trace

 I went in search of the bodies,
among the leaves and mud,

of the mice who died in my apartment,
but find no trace of body or bone.

 Overhead, a hawk circles a hawk,
dark feathers against the sky

 like the contrast in the X-ray of my wrist.
Doctors wrapped it in hot-pink plaster,

 a detail I only remember because of that picture;
me beside my crib, the broken limb heavy hanging,

 a faceless Mr. Potato Head under my other arm like my own baby.
Now, something broken hangs in the air among the hawks, 

an apology in your handwriting,
every wing flap shaping words we want to say.

 I watch one hawk through binoculars
so I will never lose sight of it.

 Somehow, the hawk looks like the photo of us
at Christmas; the curve of your smile,

 me under your wing, your wine glass almost
levitating in the hand I love. 

Lily Tobias is a poet from Fenton, Michigan. Her poem “Strawberry Interlude” was shown at the 2023 Paseo Arts Association Small Art Show and she is published in Rockvale Review, River Heron Review, The Big Windows Review, and elsewhere. Learn more at lilytobias.com.