Port Malheur

We call him Port Malheur,

Bringer of bad luck.

She called him Owl.

He is a bird to be afraid of.

The last sign before death.

She loved him. I hated the Owl.

His flat face, cruel beak.

The way he turned his head

It was not normal.

Here they say, Save the Owl.

In my country we cut down forests.

We drove him away.

We cannot save people,

Let alone Owls.

Once in the lane I saw him,

Sailing beyond our windscreen,

In the moon filled rain.

I knew then I had lost her.

He came Port Malheur,

The night her father died,

Perched on a wire above the house.

We argued, I never saw her again.

A year later she called me to say,

A bird had passed,

On a bright day, on the sea road.

It was the Owl.

Some believe Owls are the souls

Of those who have left.

Place an Owl in a woman’s hand,

She will tell you everything.

We were never like that.

Yet in these dark months

I find myself waiting.