Mother Bird by Spencer Eckart

There's a lake
in the heart of town,
murky with trash and
unfit for swimming. 

A great egret—
perched at its edge,
long, impossibly white
neck outstretched—
surveys the water,
as if the matriarch of all
its inhabitants: 

a flock of nearby ducks,
turtles sunbathing on
a debris-strewn shoreline,
weekenders in kayaks . . .  

I sit on a bench,
facing the lake,
staring at this specter
for a long time. 

The calm of the heron
touches a calm in me,
and then, as if knowing
that its lesson in perfect
emptiness is complete,
it flies off. 

I watch until
it fades from view
and walk on,
wishing to
bottle the moment
but knowing better.

Spencer Eckart is a Best of the Net-nominated poet with work published or forthcoming in Lucky Jefferson, Maudlin House, BRUISER, Spectra, trampset, and elsewhere. He resides in Western North Carolina. linktr.ee/spencereckart

Published October 15 2025