Sibling Species

By Sarah Wyman

Wild creatures flash stiletto hooves through the forest,

glossy wings catch indigo light as night falls.

At a dinner party submerged in leaves,

wet crystal illuminates a look,

the surprising resemblance to my own father

in an owl silhouette

and I see siblings beyond feathered species,

affinity amid the twittering cocktail conversation

as binoculars confirm the stir of branches.

We may ferret out our similarities at closer range,

madly digging in the mud,

hunkering through to some linkage

reflected in animal conquests,

and their other talents too:

gathering nuts, tending young,

the way they gravitate to the chase.

At airborne tables families negotiate,

from bread buns passed to presentiments of threat,

summer hoard or winter cache

our rough edges, our tufts of hair

all gathered grains melting into one meal.

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Sarah Wyman lives in the Hudson Valley where she writes and teaches about literature and the visual arts at SUNY New Paltz. She co-facilitates the Sustainability Learning Community and teaches poetry workshops at Shawangunk Prison. Her poetry has appeared in aaduna, Mudfish, Ekphrasis, San Pedro River Review, Potomac Review, Lightwood, Heron Clan XI, A Slant of Light: Contemporary Women Poets of the Hudson Valley, and other venues. Her books are Sighted Stones (FLP 2018) and Fried Goldfinch (Codhill 2021).