On Being Held
My dearest friend is a young ornithologist and when we left each other for our beloved corners of the Midwest, he gave me a small tracking band, orange, which once bound a falcon’s feet. We’re not the type to say, remember this when… but I keep it in my pocket. I like to feel kept. We drove fast down the narrow highways our eyes toward wildness when death fell at our feet. We acknowledged death’s oily feathers, left them to their time in the dirt. Our’s was a time of blue skies and quickness, pool cues, pancakes. Of course I slip that tracking band around my finger and think passing raptor a queer and secret wedding.
About the writer:
Halee Kirkwood is a current MFA student at Hamline University in St. Paul, Minnesota, and a direct descendent of the Fond Du Lac Band of Lake Superior Ojibwe. She has poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction published or forthcoming in Strange Horizons, The Eastern Iowa Review, Midwestern Gothic, Cream City Review, and Poetry City, U.S.A.