Hawkeyes

My protectors are trailing me 

lifted on the breeze like gliders 

as I walk the deserted path 

alone. 

I have never been attacked 

but I have an imagination.

I look up, am sheltered by the dark

immense wingspan

six sentries in the sky 

watching out for me. 

This is what I imagine

as the earth greens under

a gray sky, in the still, cool air

of an early Spring dusk

when no one is walking in the woods

but me.

© 2021 Amy Wolgemuth Bordoni

Dandelion

Flashing golden in the sun 

like a buttercup or a bumblebee, 

your soft, sunny face 

recklessly jubilant 

in empty lots, 

sidewalk cracks, 

abandoned gardens. 

You love to pop up 

like a little joke in the tidiest yards. 

Homeowners yank and spray at your unyielding roots, 

but like a wild horse or a runaway train, 

there’s no stopping you, dandelion. 

Abundant and enthusiastic as the third chakra, 

you delight children everywhere 

who know your secret 

edible milky stem 

and how a friend who likes butter will glow yellow 

when your bright blossom is held 

under her chin.

At the window

Nuthatch, woodpecker, wren, cardinal 

dancing in the dormant 

forsythia 

darting and daring 

taking turns 

at the just-filled feeder 

I stand still 

two minutes 

after shuffling in slippers 

across worn wooden floors 

to marvel 

at your freedom