Poems by Susan Lanier
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Fledgling
by Susan Lanier
From Canary Spring 2015
Susan lives just above the Arroyo Chamisa, which offers passage to coyotes, bears, the spring-returning mountain lions; passage north to Sun, Moon and Atalaya Mountain or south to the sprawling, drier areas of high desert in the Santa Fe watershed.
hiding under the tarragon
he flopped out when spray
from the hose spattered
the leaves his tail awry
and one leg limp he gouged
his way through the mulch
with the elbows of his wings
mottled down pillowed his breast
had he plunged to stone? veered
into my window?
his beak gaped soundlessly
but no parent towhee arrived
her beak tufted with beetle legs
red ants would pry away
his flesh should he grow still
he persevered for hours and I
considered options but did
the deadly nothing
and later sprained my foot hiking
as if in retribution with such terrifying
implications that I like any fledgling
too soon flown am unqualified
to know
© Susan Lanier
Letter to Mardie Ratheau
Marlboro, Vermont
by Susan Lanier
From Canary Fall 2015
when I showed you where I waited
beside the stone wall tucked under
my plastic camouflage poncho
bobbing my head like branches
in the breeze scanning
listening to every dry leaf
shift so still I began to lose
definition like an abandoned house
loses shingles the wind weaseling
through...
when I told you how all I heard
at first were taps like a dog’s nails
on concrete then saw trotting
up the wobbled stone wall not looking
at me but in seconds to pass
three feet from my face a full grown
fox too many colors to remember
possibly rabid my legs tangled
when I told you I couldn't tell if he saw me
his eyes alert for the flush poised to strike
and you asked me Was it
a dream?
stunned I said
No. I was never more awake.
I meant to stay calm
I meant to remain invisible
and what I meant to say to you
was
if I were dreaming
then everything is a dream
and in it a fox the color of dry leaves
urine-burned bark sumac berries
mushroom ash floats
over stones and looks
through me as if
I were air
© Susan Lanier