by Michele Karas

A Great Egret approaches the field, her yellow beak spearing the mist.

Am I awake or am I dreaming?

Here I sit: barefoot and overshadowed
by an eave, binoculars just beyond reach.

Our first summer in this house, I scrubbed the planks of the front porch
with bleach, trying to kill years of mildew.

This season new mold blooms in the gaps between the slats.

Up, up goes the ghost bird! Paper-white sails fill and lift
with the satisfaction of her existence.

Here I sit, chasing the moment.

Everything is illusion.

The weight of this pen in my hand, my body aging in this chair.

Michele Karas is a New York-based poet and writer working in big media. Her poems have appeared in Northern Virginia Review, Mid-American Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, Thrush Poetry Journal and elsewhere. A Community of Writers alumna, Michele holds an MFA from CUNY the City College of New York and edits poetry for The Night Heron Barks. IG: @Small_Peace