Avia, St. Peter's Square
First they scanned as nuns, impaired by habit
With struggling gait given to mortal wonders
On glazed terracotta perch a trio of seabirds, bellwethers
Bedeviled a bit by the fumes, white and final
Yet of great tidings — the Throne of Saint Peter:
Their plumes told the groundlings and their Facebook
Familia that Collegium Cardinalium, least its
Youngest electors, had stoked ultimate fires
While troubled winged trinity of errant herring gulls
Mince about atop Pontelli’s jeweled lockbox.
Votaries to votes, then those to smoke, elate a conclave—
Wings of angels flit across the ribbed ceiling
Sealing its pastel cage of flightless cardinals.
So the flock gathers, flounces, sheds feathers
Arancione webbing, mystery lifted, pronounces
Aloft a new dawn to an unsettled congregation
Lost amid shadows marbling the piazza
Craning necks crossed by the mumbled perception
As soft vespers descends and the seagulls depart.
R.H. Russell grew up in New England, which he continues to call home. One of his poems was recently honored by the Inkwell Writer’s Alliance of New Hampshire; he has published in both 2025 issues of Touchstone, the journal of the Poetry Society of New Hampshire, as well as in the online journal Snakeskin.
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