Beneath the lilac, among the daisies,
they appear, topknots waving
like clown umbrellas in a parade
or like a buffet sign Eat Here!
Their sturdy bodies toddle on,
and while I glance away, they vanish—
Oh, please may they turn up again
in the present tense.
Favor their innocence to persevere.
They peck and peck, here among
the flower beds and blades of grass:
let safety be their residence.
And should they wander past the fence,
appeased be the predators. (The wind
has left their wings the color of sand.)
The present tense is danger’s residence.
Let them be disguised as stones—
embellishments, sand-colored jewels.
Oh, may the desert hide them among
the folds and pockets of her dress.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 2.
Kathy Nelson, recipient of the James Dickey Prize, MFA graduate of the Warren Wilson Program for Writers, and Nevada Arts Council Fellow, is author of The Ledger of Mistakes (Terrapin Books) and two previous chapbooks. Her work appears in About Place, New Ohio Review, Tar River Poetry, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Verse Daily and elsewhere.
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