mango marigold tiger
wings
distill sun flower countries
of wind
until the lightest riot
constellates sacred firs
orange stars tremble needles
wreathe puddles and pond edges
thrill busloads of your children
and your impossible aunts
what do you love
the administration
says bisect flyway and floodplain
flatten them wall them dam them light them so stark everything
dies in the glare
what do you love
the guardians
say plant slender-leaved milkweed
grow goldenrod, lantana, purple sage
nurse forage and nectar
everywhere you can
everyone can heal
nothing is heavy
or shall we mourn our billion monarch
ghosts, shall we end them all, one small form
after another, drifting
and the tortoises, the horny toads, the indigo snakes,
the ocelots, the pygmy owls, the pronghorns —
what do you love
walls or life.
Elizabeth Kuelbs writes and mothers at the edge of a Los Angeles canyon. She holds an MFA from the Vermont College of Fine Arts. You can find more of her work in The Timberline Review, The Poeming Pigeon, Minerva Rising, Cricket, Plum Tree Tavern, and elsewhere. She is a Pushcart nominee, and the author of an upcoming chapbook, How to Clean Your Eyes (Dancing Girl Press, 2019.)
Photo by Kristel Hayes.
