“Late Winter Walk,” a Poem by Julia Alvarez

High above this snowy field
we spot a shadow hovering.
When I turn to you and ask,
What is it: a vulture or a hawk?
your hand drops mine
to shade your narrowed eyes
from the brilliant winter light.

Let it be a hawk, you say,
let the beautiful, majestic bird
of poetry we read in school
soar like a good omen
over this spring-surprise
of love in our autumn years.
And you take my hand to prove
it’s already taking effect.

But I keep seeing a vulture’s shape
in the deep curve of the shoulders,
I keep sensing the lurking danger
in the happy plot of the story.

So let it be a vulture, too,
blunt-headed, raggedy,
something we don’t want flying
over our best moments,
to remind us how love can turn,
as my anger towards you can do,
as your righteousness can scoop
my smallness in its claws
dashing it from the height
of your better, sweeter nature.
But let it also be a hawk,
high-minded, riding warm waves
of thermals in this cold weather.

Whatever it is, it soars
above this wintery bright day,
and watching it we are drawn
to look up at the sky
and ask of each other the name
for the happiness we feel—
hawk, you say out of faith,
and I, vulture, out of fear.

We watch it soar till the cold
catches under our coats
and your warm hand signals mine,
time to head back indoors;
our breaths release ghostly birds
vanishing in white flight.
The air clears. In the nearby woods,
a woodpecker drums for its mate.
I hear it but hold back
for the pleasure of having you say,
spring is on its way.

__________________________________