By Lauren Scharhag
An ancient practice, once done only on birds of prey,
for falconry is as old as civilization.
The materials have changed, dowel rods, graphite, wire,
fiberglass, and epoxy replacing bamboo, iron, and rust,
but the technique is the same, donated feathers and
the imping needle inserted into each broken shaft,
then sealed with adhesive. The donated feathers ideally
should be the same shape, the same color,
come from a bird of the same species, the same age, size,
and sex, and even then, the imper must be precise as they trim,
measure, and align the replacement feathers. Now, such
ministrations are performed on owls, corvids, seabirds,
the laughing kookaburra, as well as New World raptors:
osprey, kestrel, northern harrier, Cooper’s hawk, ferruginous,
perchers on light poles and roadside signs,
keen eyes seeking out carrion, the dying gasp,
the scurry and scuttle of small delicacies
through the fields. Now the dive, dihedral wings,
its V-shaped shadow the dread of ground dwellers.
During courtship, those same wings send the male
swooping low, only to soar upwards again, rising and falling,
over and over, to impress the female with his agility.
He approaches her from above, legs extended to touch.
Sometimes, they clasp talons, and plummet together
in spiraling assignation, every feather necessary,
every feather playing its unique role to make all this possible—
gliding, hunting, evading, mating dances.
In the wild, broken feathers go unmended,
and the bird may or may not survive, but from the imper’s hands,
wings unfurl like banners, restored to the sky.
Lauren Scharhag is an award-winning author of fiction and poetry, and a senior editor at Gleam. Her latest releases include Screaming Intensifies (Whiskey City Press), the In the King’s Power series (self-published), and Ain’t These Sorrows Sweet (Roadside Press). She lives in Kansas City, MO.
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Hi Loren. I love your descriptive and interesting poem! I have missed you. Send a letter soon. Tom