"it's snack time"

my daughter
gifted me
a crow feather
long and black
and bent
in a slight "s"
we surmised
it ripped
from his wing
by a hawk
mad dash
through the
sunlight
into shadow
and then
as if on cue
red-tail alighted
on a bough
across the street
and we
sitting in grass
amid winter bees
and broken weeds
watched it
pounce
mouse or mole
too slow
ot too engrossed
two wings
flailing
victorious
as murder
watched cautiously
from diminutive
scatterings
of january green
and i
squeezing
that feather
between
bicep and rib
took my daughter
by the hand
and retreated
for cookies
and purple soda