Saturday, June 11, 2022

The Fledgling

Racing around the backyard
In the canyon’s strong March winds,
The girl in the pink princess

Dress over blue trousers shrills
Her toddler delight, arms wide
To the gusts buffeting her,

Pure physicality, or
Not quite—imagination
Has already taken hold,

And she shouts to her father
That she’s flying, she’s flying,
And she speculates the wind

Might be strong enough to sweep
Down a bird’s nest she’s spotted
In the still-leafless ash tree.

She covets that nest. She wants
To hold it, look into it.
We need the wind to be strong

To blow the nest down! She shouts
To her observing father,
The mind in her mind flying.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.