they learn to look both ways
our clever cousins
crows, squirrels, jays, raccoons
using streetlights to spot what hunts them
choosing a well-fed life
over the forest’s hungry beauty
I see this city through their eyes
the security of a well-lit street
nests of shiny rubbish
what do nestlings know of past migrations
it’s the grief of great grandmothers
what they traded for our lives
who can blame those first corn-mothers
for clearing ground
for wanting chubby children
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 23, Issue 1.
Beth Suter studied Environmental Science at U.C. Davis and has worked as a naturalist and teacher. She is also a Pushcart Prize nominee, with recent or forthcoming poems in Bellingham Review, Poetry South, Mudfish, Poet Lore, and The American Journal of Poetry, among others. She lives in Davis, California with her husband and son.See all items about Beth Suter
