It takes me thirty-one years to see
the green heron’s shape in the shadow
of leaves, a bright spot in the sun’s softness
the tree limbs still calling the child
in my shoes to climb skywards, the nesting
hummingbirds flitting past dragonfly
also flitting past this lake is home
where my mother’s water broke with me
I revolve around this pond, as autumn swirls
in her crisp wind, as an osprey circles.
Kelsey Bryan-Zwick is a Spanish/English speaking Pushcart Prize nominee and the author of Watermarked (Sadie Girl Press). kelseybryanzwick.wixsite.com/poetry.