I love this poem about vultures. Around Altus we have vultures called turkey vultures (because of the way they look). This poem is about a creature that most people see as ugly, gross, and maybe even unimportant. The author starts out the poem addressing the bird that many have seen but not given much thought to. Then he has an experience where he realizes what they really are, and he can see it.
I love the picture of a tree full of vultures with shiny black feathers and red, wrinkled heads (black leaves and pink fruit). I also love how he describes their heads as red and ugly as a human heart. Human hearts are not very pretty but aren't they so needed and loved! It's not that I love vultures but this poem makes me appreciate them more.
Under the Vulture-Tree
by David Bottoms
We have all seen them circling pastures,
have looked up from the mouth of a barn, a pine clearing,
the fences of our own backyards, and have stood
amazed by the one slow wing beat, the endless dihedral drift.
But I had never seen so many so close, hundreds,
every limb of the dead oak feathered black,
and I cut the engine, let the river grab the jon boat
and pull it toward the tree.
The black leaves shined, the pink fruit blossomed
red, ugly as a human heart.
Then, as I passed under their dream, I saw for the first time
its soft countenance, the raw fleshy jowls
wrinkled and generous, like the faces of the very old
who have grown to empathize with everything.
And I drifted away from them, slow, on the pull of the river,
reluctant, looking back at their roost,
calling them what I'd never called them, what they are,
those dwarfed transfiguring angels,
who flock to the side of the poisoned fox, the mud turtle
crushed on the shoulder of the road,
who pray over the leaf-graves of the anonymous lost,
with mercy enough to consume us all and give us wings.
