The tulips have passed and the news
is more gloom doom, more unsettled weather—
rain, hail, thunder sun.
Still the season keeps moving on.
Trees are budding and if I squint
the horizon is a retrospective of yellow greens.
This is surface. What the naked eye sees,
but underneath, as I drive
down the Parkway and into the valley
to care for my daughter’s daughter,
birds with the bones of dinosaurs
are singing as they disappear.
—
Cindy Veach is the author of Monster Galaxy (MoonPath Press, forthcoming), Her Kind (CavanKerry Press), an Eric Hoffer Montaigne Medal finalist, and Gloved Against Blood (CavanKerry Press), a Paterson Poetry Prize finalist and Massachusetts Center for the Book ‘Must Read.’ Her poems have appeared in the Academy of American Poets Poem-a-Day, AGNI, Michigan Quarterly Review and Poet Lore among others. She is the recipient of the Philip Booth Prize and Samuel Allen Washington Prize.
