I am the daughter of
eruptions of laughter
ten minutes past dawn
in the dead of silence.
Proud of my mud cakes
cracking in the heat,
of water eking up to dance
in circles below pink and fleshy
scarred knees.

Adored by the golden finches
pranced on half-empty orange bird feeders
I filled naught 20 minutes ago
on tippy toes,
careful to spill for the chippies and squirrels.





Promises to the deer
I wouldn’t shoot them;
I won’t.
Spring through foliage,
dragging a fern in tow.
Admiration
but careful not to meet eyes
with the bunnies raiding carefully planted vegetables,
bellies bursting and full.

Without a care in the world,
a “good day”
to the tulips, their want of light
contagious,
their jealous whispers
serenade me
as I follow the sun home.