“Thought provoking and cunning, Miranda Beeson has more than a knack to lead the reader through a well thought out event. Accomplished in her art, she invites us to sit on the passenger side of her pen and steer us down her lane of view.”
— Beacon Poetry Editor Billy Hands
Cutchogue, April 1, 41.0107° N, 72.4851° W
by Miranda Beeson
The fish hawk is back, surveying his nest from his usual perch
— an edifice of twigs, twisted sea grass, popped rainbow
birthday balloons, a red shred of t-shirt, the glitter of tinfoil
from picnics on the beach—the detritus of man.
Soon his mate will arrive from the tip of a peninsula
in French Guiana, squeezing the earth’s magnetic field
for signs pointing north over the Caribbean, to Hispaniola,
Cuba, riding the thermals twenty-seven hundred miles home.
Somewhere on the Aegean between Turkey and Greece,
citizens are squeezed together in zodiacs that know nothing
of stars. They huddle under the weight of water-logged
life jackets and fear—a tiny motor sputtering its way
toward unfamiliar lights over a sea of broken paddles,
backpacks, glittering lost cities.
Miranda Beeson is a writer, teacher, and MFA candidate at Stony Brook Southampton. She lives in Cutchogue & NYC.
The Beacon is accepting poetry submissions at email@example.com.