by John Grey
An owl
is woken by moving shadow,
a young girl with a pail.
The bird swivels its head.
An unwelcoming glare grips her
as if eyes are talons.
Outside the barn,
rain falls, mists the air.
Fence posts sag under the weight of sky.
She collects eggs.
The hens briefly panic.
She leaves to a chorus of hoot and cluck.
The path home is chilly and wet
but the eggs are warm against her chest.
The owl, like the barn,
falls back to sleep.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Midnight Mind, Willow Review and the Pennsylvania Literary Journal. Latest books, Bittersweet, Subject Matters and Between Two Fires are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the MacGuffin, Touchstone and Willow Review.