Photo by Rick Hafele
Spring Aires
A fen where the earth blooms red.
As mists part, I pause—awake now.
Two sandhills, three-toed strut strut,
slit of beaks tilted, point skyward—
to sing in a wet forgotten language
one made of spring and hollow and echo.
If I am mute. If I am dry with winter.
If I have neglected to bloom.
Here too let us aim our hunger
as if harbingers, as if winged.
A ritual bow—deep muddied
a lust that will lift stick, leaf—
will toss debris and rise, defy earth
in feathered dance—this holiness.
Kimberly Blaeser, past Wisconsin Poet Laureate and founding director of Indigenous Nations Poets, is a citizen of White Earth Nation. Her sixth poetry collection, Ancient Light, is forthcoming in 2024. kblaeser.org
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