By Lucy Hitz
Winner of Lucia’s Poetry Award
I read about spirit animals on the internet.
The internet tells me that the white parrot
who flew into my car tonight, refusing exit pleas,
special vigilance will be required in the days to come
or I’m about to learn new language skills.
If it’s special vigilance,
I’m supposed to be on the lookout for signs,
omens: Perhaps it’s the perfect time to go after the dreams
you once thought were out of reach.
If it’s new language skills, though,
I am supposed to change
what I say to myself,
those perilous extremes—
standing in the perfect field,
about to fall over the black cliff.
Yes, you are the mountain, sure,
and I am the weather, ever-shifting,
but should the climate change so drastically?
Am I equipped?