Christian and Seagulls Near Chicago
Elena Lee Johnson
I watch them as they wheel above low wires
In grease flecked air above the pancake house.
Their white-gray sea shapes soar, inspire
With clipper ship impressions, spoondrift doused.
And then, they dip and waddle, poultry down
To squabble for a bit of hot dog bun.
They plunge, cold-eyed, to join the fumy town,
Forgetting silver waves and wild sun.
My sillies, soar your clean-hewn silhouettes
As portends of a vaster kind of life.
But even as you root through cigarettes,
Your presence states that water is close by—
Intrinsic to your nature and your name.
God grant the grace that mine may do the same.