Boulder Colorado, June
A doe and two fawns, still spotted,
amble into the back yard, browse
flower beds, pass over portulaca,
nibble new shoots. Rebuffed as it tries
to nurse, one fawn zips around the yard
in ever-widening circles, skids on the thick
carpet of pine needles.Sunlight stipples
bark on the 45 foot tall blue spruce.
Unseen, a hummingbird trills, announces itself from the trees.
Finches claim the feeder,dart away when a blue jay squawks
as it scoops a peanut balanced on the edge of the patio. Squirrels
scamper up the pine, chide the cat stretched on a lounger.
Blackcapped chickadees peck at sunflower seeds, give thanks
with the call and response of their chick-a-dee-dee chorus.
Foothills of the Rockies fade as dusk blankets them.
Mama raccoon’s yellow eyes pierce the dark
while she leads five babies to the stream.
Mother Breaks Her Silence
Daybreak follows an overnight ice storm.
I creep along the curved on-ramp,
ease onto I-95. The asphalt sparkles
like a geode, although I can’t tell if it’s ice
or brine. I practice positive self-talk,
slow and steady, grip the steering wheel
with gloved fingers, praise myself
as I get closer to work. I whisper to my mother,
and after years of pleading, years
of not hearing her voice, she answers,
sturdy and clear as if she were riding shotgun.
Oh honey, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.