The morning sun is blinding
in the clarity of a pale blue sky.
A pair of small Aztec Doves
coo and flirt in the bare limbs
of the neighbor’s backyard tree.
Sparrows busily twitter and fuss,
singing to a new day dawned. It’s chilly.

I am wrung with cold inner-shivers,
as I huddle in my sweats and flannel shirt.
There hasn’t been enough time to develop
my ‘pocket-of-warmth’. I pull my hands
up into my sleeves, leaving
only ends of fingers sticking out;
some holding my mechanical pencil,
some steadying my composition book,
balanced across my knees.
The youngest cats are playing, the rabbits
are watching from their hutch.

Of a sudden, church bells ring out
‘Oh, Holy Night’. One of my favorites.
A paean to Gods, and Man. A triumph
of sound, created by a soul touched
by harmony. Sometimes, I feel harmony,
feel atomically connected to Nature
to such a degree, I am Elemental…
The pealing changes. ‘It Came Upon
A Midnight Clear’. Another beauty.
I’m still shivering.

A monotonous ‘coo-cooing’ from
a solitary dove, the largest kind, grips
my attention. I think I recognize the voice.
It is the female whose mate was killed
by my cats, my life, last spring. Her
painful dirge rang through my yard for weeks,
now, she sounds hopeful. But, I thought
I heard doves mate for life. Even while I ache,
I have to admire her fortitude, her soul.
In the distance, an aircraft’s contrail speeds
into the future of 2005. Our future.

The church bells have stopped, the birds
are tiring, the mourning dove, gone.
The new year seems to take a deep breath,
and collapses onto my head, into my mind.
I look up, again, and see the spaceship has
disappeared, leaving me shivering
in the cold.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 11/1/05



This is the poem referenced in the title and body of this newer piece.


Dead Mourning Dove

There is an aching, hollow note
to the Mourning Dove’s repeated calls.
They break my heart as I feel their hurt,
for I found her mate, this morning,
with his breast ripped apart.

There is a hopeless, slow beat
to the monotony, as her eyes constantly seek.
Her mate was a beauty, sleek, almost pretty,
but I found him cold, and stiffening,
with only his breast ripped apart.

There is a madness, a pulse,
in my mind, I can’t get away from the sound.
One tear for each call, from my face to fall,
for I found him with eyes open, and glazing,
one of my cats had ripped his breast apart.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 6/4/04