Tom Heaven

Three wild turkeys
foraged above the leach field,
pulling their great teardrop bodies
behind like trailers
as if their red, pistoning heads
propelled them forward,
single chest feathers dangling,
medallions of gender.

In shadow, grave, funereal,
they stepped lightly forward
as if avoiding pebbles
like Puritans in a queue
treading carefully over sins.

I thought of Mather and Edwards
in long frock coats
filing forward to the altar,
heads heavy with theology,
pulling congregants behind,
dark bodies hauled to heaven.

But when the birds broke into sunlight
they were transformed
by brass and crimson
etched in metallic green, rivaling
the paisley fan of peacocks.

At my dog’s frenzied approach
they scattered,
oversized wings pumping,
boulder bodies rising,
gravity upended
in miraculous flight.






Click here to listen to C.E. Chaffin reading "Tom Heaven"

C.E. Chaffin, M.D., FAAFP, is a contributing editor for Umbrella. Credits include The Alaska Quarterly Review, The Pedestal, The Philadelphia Inquirer Book Review, and Rattle. He published The Melic Review for eight years. His new volume, Unexpected Light, was released by Diminuendo Press in 2009. He also teaches an online poetry tutorial. Inquiries can be made at http://www.cechaffin.com.