Mourning Dove

From my balcony on the fourth floor
of this downtown apartment,  I can see
nests tucked under the roofline of the surrounding buildings.

Birds dart in and out. I couldn’t name a single one,
except the bullying blue jay. But I recognize their calls,
some sharp and brief, others bright and trilling.

The morning dove’s (or is it mourning?)
is low like an owl’s hoot and hauntingly long.
It doesn’t seem to belong here, barely heard 
above the traffic, that rushing urban river.

Years from now, when I drink my tea
from a different chair, at a different home, with a different view
I’ll hear that call — the dove’s unmistakable coo — and return
in my mind to this exact moment. 

Will I smile then? Or sigh? Will I search 
through drawers filled with journals long faded, flipping their pages 
until I find this poem - How will it read then, in a different chair, 
at a different home, with a different view?

Sarette Danae is a teacher and writer hailing from Seattle. Her poetry has appeared in local and international publications including The Metaworker, Blue Mountain Review, and Amsterdam Quarterly. When not writing, she can usually be found hiking with her husband and two dogs.