Three beaks ascend
at my mimicry squawk,
open like scissors
to paper-crisp air.
Later we find the mother looking
serene sheltering her trio.
I tell my children to look
but do not touch.

The father frequents
the tree above
my daughter’s swing.
I admire the color this blue jay brings
to a green, flowerless summer,
to several weeks of rain,
clean his shit off
the plastic seat and nylon straps.

At the park, perched on a bench,
a talon-nosed man watches
my children play.
They dig out a nest
in the sand box,
bury their pick-up trucks
in order to rescue them.

I watch them, ready.
I am a hawk
if he so much as touches
the air.

Melissa Guillet’s work has appeared in Appleseeds, Ballard Street, Bloodroot, Caduceus, The Cherry Blossom Review, GBSPA’s City Lights, Cyclamen & Sword, Dos Passos Review, Fearless Books, Imitation Fruit (winning poem), Lalitamba, Language and Culture, Lavanderia, Look! Up in the Sky!, New Muse, Nth Position, Public Republic, Sangam, Scrivener’s Pen, Seven Circle Press, Women. Period., and several chapbooks.