a hawk by the road

I saw a hawk today.
At first
I thought it was an owl.
because I never see owls
and I’m low key obsessed
for the day my owl sighting occurs.

When I got closer though,
it was obvisouly a hawk.
I wondered
How did I know
what a hawk was.
As in,
when did I learn
to identify
a hawk.

And then,
I was thinking about
My granparents
and I remembered
they had a hawk
for a long time.

It had been injured
and they cared for it
until it could do hawk things
and I realized
my grandparents,
are a defining influence
in who I am
as a person.

My grandma’s always been an artist,
my grandad a photographer
and musician
sharing pictures of
foreign tropical places
and the birds
and the flowers
that live there.

Their house,
is a Disney forest,
of all the wildlife
that has called it home
and a constant,
resident Doberman,
who was,
in my lifetime –
Brandy,
then Raven
then Jackson
then…
A new puppy
name: TBD.

They taught me
how to see beauty
and how
to express it
even when it’s ugly.

I saw a hawk today
and thought about
my grandparents.

 

van gogh

My grandma’s house
was in the middle
of nowhere.

She lived
on the same plot of land
that her parent’s
had lived on.

With my grandpa,
they built their
own house next door.

They were
surrounded by corn
and her parents.

I always loved her house.
She had one of those rooms,
most grandma’s have,
the sort of room
you’re never really allowed
to be in,
except on Christmas.

That was were the nice
furniture was,
and of course
it was white.

Super practical.

Her house was always
nice.
It didn’t smell,
like
old people lived there.
She has style
sort of timeless,
but still sort of grandma-ish…

but the ceiling arched up
at every corner
and I thought that was
the coolest thing
ever.

A painting hung,
on the opposite wall
of this
giant window
you could see all
the corn from
and a big
wheeping
widow.

It was a painting
of flowers in a pot
and it sort of always
looked old.

Once I read about
Van Gogh
and had a surface level
understanding of
the sunflower painting,
I was convinced
my grandma
was in possession
of a real Van Gogh.

No one believed me.
I always thought
it was because,
they didn’t care about art.
or, maybe they didn’t know
who Van Gogh was
but probably
because I was 8.

She did not,
in fact
have a Van Gogh painting.
They weren’t even sunflowers
in the painting
that hung across
from the giant window
and the whipping willow
that peeped inside.


Those are my thoughts for today. Until tomorrow, friends.