- Hawk in the Bronx
I caught this morning morning’s minion.—Gerard Manley Hopkins
Perched on a church scolding stone
Hawkeye owns his daily glory.
He wives the wind and chides the world
whose children make their earthward way
asleep beneath the wing of their unknowing.
Being pure bird, minor miracle of air,
he is stranger to despair, the ordinary agony
that halves the merely human heart.
The easy feast he devours each of every bell-knelled hour
escapes those who live too low. Twice-blessed is he to know
the saint’s sweet rapture impossible to capture. [End Page 130]
Angela Alaimo O’Donnell teaches English, Creative Writing, and American Catholic Studies at Fordham University where she is Associate Director of the Curran Center for American Catholic Studies. Her publications include two chapbooks, Mine (2007) and Waiting for Ecstasy (2009), and two full-length collections, Moving House (2009) and Saint Sinatra (2011). Her poems and essays have appeared in a number of journals, including America, Christian Century, Christianity & Literature, Commonweal, First Things, and Mezzo-Cammin. http://angelaalaimoodonnell.com