HERONLESS
I look for him from the foot bridge he’s not in any of his usual places
not mid-stream in shallows not below the arch under the road
not at the corner on a stony outcrop the fishes are swimming undeterred
and the day feels so heronless without him
the sky has turned a darker grey than he is the sun has hidden her light
that would be yellow like his eye the water has tried to ripple itself into feathers
nothing is as delicate as the way he steps forward oh I know I shouldn’t
be thinking about herons when the world is collapsing round our ears
when there’s every kind of injustice to be railed against but if only I could
stand in his long legged careful presence I think I could almost bear it
without him there’s a lack of sharp beaked swiftness
of keen concentrated stillness the hunter’s single pointed focus
I can’t seem to turn away from his absence can’t seem to face the furious
flood of traffic can’t find the strength
to read any messages let alone the news even the ducks are not laughing
but sleeping their heads under their wings in sorrow
trees ring their leaves and sigh I’ll look for him again tomorrow.
Sophia Argyris was born in Belgium to an English and Greek family, grew up mostly in Scotland, and currently lives in England. Her work has been published in Atrium, Magma, Prole and Under the Radar amongst others, and is forthcoming in The Seventh Quarry.