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Blue Marble Review

Literary Journal for Young Writers

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The Nighthawk

By Jenna Kurtzweil

One night I lay in want of sleep,

but fair Adventure, dark and deep,

was resting, waiting, captivating

every thought my mind could keep.

 

And so I stole across my room,

drawn by the Fates’ incessant loom,

for whispers, swift and promising,

were luring me into the gloom.

 

I balanced on the windowsill,

undaunted by the creeping chill

of night, for brightly overhead

the watchful Moon hung soft and still.

 

Then swiftly, as if by a prayer,

a Nighthawk, slicing through the air,

appeared to rest abreast my lonely

figure, as I waited there.

 

She peered at me through ebon eyes

that sung of shadows, old and wise,

and as she loosed her beak to speak

I listened raptly, hypnotized.

 

“O Raven-girl, your time is near!

Why must you wither, crouched in dreary,

pallid light? The ballad of your life

is raging! Fly from here!”

 

I quickly rose, enraptured by

this dark messiah, knowing I

could never flee my bruised and bloodied land

until I learned to fly.

 

So I, held captive by her claims,

entranced by she who called my name

so boldly, whispered “mold me as you will

and make us both the same.”

 

Within a moment, I was changed

and all my features rearranged,

eclipsed by feathers, weathered claws,

and eyes that saw myself estranged.

 

At this, although the light was dim,

I saw the Nighthawk, old and grim,

take to the skies; within her cries

I heard her final crooning hymn:

 

“Behold the waxing Moon, and then

look closely as it starts to wane.

Like ragged Ships and rugged Men,

here and there, then gone again.”

 

And just like that, she disappeared,

elusive as the Sisters, weird

and wild; the night once more was mild

and wretched dark no longer feared.

 

I soared on borrowed wings that night;

bathed in the strange and spectral light

that washed the world, I twirled and balanced,

wraithlike, on the winds of flight.

 

I skimmed and sailed the velvet sea

that roiled and tossed and cradled me

between the hats and crooked backs

and shadows strewn about the streets.

 

But Dawn, the Ever-present, curled

her back, and gilded wings unfurled

to usher in the rush of din

that ripped me from my Netherworld.

 

I woke, as I am wont to do

When Night concedes her glory to

the crystal-patterned mists of Morning’s

journey into swirling blue.

 

And through my window, fading fast,

my loyal Guard did set at last,

obscured and blurred by wishful clouds

that shimmered like a lake of glass.

 

A lake with waves much stronger then,

or dreams that fade beyond my ken.

Like ragged Ships and rugged Men,

here and there, then gone again.

 

 

Jenna Kurtzweil is 19 years old and hails from Palatine, IL.  Along with her responsibilities as a student at the University of Illinois, Jenna is always looking for new opportunities to experience life through travel, literature, music, and all forms of storytelling.  Jenna has also been published in The Noisy Island.  

 

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: Issue Three/Fall

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