By Lucy Hitz
Winner of Lucia’s Poetry Award

I read about spirit animals on the internet.

The internet tells me that the white parrot

who flew into my car tonight, refusing exit pleas,

means either

special vigilance will be required in the days to come

or I’m about to learn new language skills.

If it’s special vigilance,

I’m supposed to be on the lookout for signs,

omens: Perhaps it’s the perfect time to go after the dreams

you once thought were out of reach.

If it’s new language skills, though,

I am supposed to change

what I say to myself,

those perilous extremes—

standing in the perfect field,

about to fall over the black cliff.

Yes, you are the mountain, sure,

and I am the weather, ever-shifting,

but should the climate change so drastically?

Am I equipped?

Are you?