A goldfinch landed
on the sunflower and
dug his beak into its
head of seeds, just as
I opened the blinds to
let in the light. The
old petals were dry and
deep yellow, and
the finch was sun-
yellow and black, his
glossy head darker
than the seeds that
nourished him. Every
time a goldfinch lands
on our porch I think—
I’ve done something
in this world. True,
I’m not the flower
and I haven’t
even watered it. Not
for a while, at least. But
maybe it’s enough
to love the one who
has—who came home
with his arms full of
green and blooming
things. The goldfinch
doesn’t stay for long.
I’m sure there is a reason.
He balances with
practiced feet
on slender stalks, and
then, again, takes flight.
—
Dana J. Graef has written articles and essays on mining, wildness, and climate change. She is the author of a poetry micro-chapbook, Vanishing (tiny wren publishing, 2024). Graef holds a Ph.D. in Anthropology & Environmental Studies from Yale University. She has taught courses on topics including sovereignty and the environment, climate change, and environmental and social justice.
