Eagle

In a winter field
at the edge of brown wetlands,
early on a Saturday afternoon,
we saw an eagle swoop down
on a hen pheasant,
reaching for her rib cage
like he was going to tickle her.
But instead he gave one quick squeeze
and with his talons pierced her heart.

Then he lifted up and sailed
to a wooden fence post
where he perched.
The hen stumbled twenty steps,
fell on her side and was done.

We stayed for an hour to see what would happen,
but the eagle didn’t stir.
Perhaps with anticipation being the better part of satisfaction,
he was meditating on the dinner waiting for him there,
turning cold
in the withered weeds.