The birches dizzy me, shaking down
their mint and white confetti crowns around
the Scarlet Tanager, a trilling sky-high king:

red come orange, come black, come green.

From this forest freshed with song,
a goose lay drawn, opened
in a field ringed in feathers—

orange come red, come black, come green.

The coyote cast a wing
and three coronets
back to feign molting,

a confetti whorled white come red, come green.

Sandra Marchetti is the author of Confluence, her debut full-length poetry collection. Eating Dog Press also published an illustrated edition of her essays and poetry, A Detail in the Landscape, and her first volume, The Canopy, won Midwest Writing Center’s Mississippi Valley Chapbook Contest. Her work appears in The Journal, Subtropics, Mid-American Review, Thrush Poetry Journal, South Dakota Review, Phoebe, Southwest Review, and elsewhere.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.