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Mourning Dove

May 28, 2013

by Louisa Howerow

The curve of her small head belies
the waddle of a body she settles
under the spent lilac. Black eyes

ringed blue take in the corner
garden where I sit with your letter
on my lap. She paces, pauses,

intermittently lifts her tail to reveal
a shock of white. I click my pen
and she erupts — a whistling ascent,

tail pointing, stretching. If I were
a hunter, I’d have taken her by now.
She’s so easy on the ground.


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Louisa Howerow’s latest poems appeared in the journal Rhino, an anthology, War of 1812 Poetry & Prose: An Unfinished War (Black Moss Press, 2012) and as a small collection Voices, Choices (Phafours, 2012).

  1. terry fernando newton
    May 28, 2013 at 3:23 pm

    Louisa your writing made me want more of your work

  2. May 29, 2013 at 8:56 am

    Louisa, this is a wonderful poem, in sound and sense!

  3. Christina Pacosz
    June 3, 2013 at 10:03 am

    Great poem, Louisa.

  4. June 3, 2013 at 2:17 pm

    Wonderful poem, Louisa, and I liked hearing you read it!

  5. Louisa
    June 11, 2013 at 9:51 pm

    thank you, Terry, Rosemary, Christina, Carol : )

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