Your baby is the size of a sweet pea.
Your baby is the size of a cherry.
Your baby is the size of a single red leaf
in early September. Your baby is the size
of What if. The size of Please Lord.
The size of a young lynx stretching.
Heat lightning. A lava lamp.
Your baby is the size of every dream
you've ever had about being onstage
and not knowing your lines. Your baby
is the size of a can of Miller Lite.
Apple-picking. Google. All of Google.
Your baby is the size of a googol,
and also the size of the iridescence
at a hummingbird’s throat. Your baby
is the size of a bulletproof nap mat.
Cassiopeia on a cold night. The size
of the 1.5-degree rise in ocean temps
between 1901 and 2015. Your baby
is the size of the lie you told your mother
the night before Senior Skip Day, and
also the size of the first time you saw
a whale shark glide by, its gray heft
filling the tank’s window, and also
the size of just the very best acorn.
Your baby is the size of the Mona Lisa.
The size of the Louvre. The size
of that moment in “Levon” when
the strings first kick in. Your baby
is the size of a baby-sized pumpkin.
A bright hibiscus. A door. Your baby
is the size of the Gravitron, and your fear
the first time you rode it that your heart
might drop right through your body,
and then your elation when it didn't,
when the red vinyl panels rose and fell
and you rose and fell with them.

Copyright © 2020 by Catherine Pierce. From Danger Days (Saturnalia, 2020). Used with the permission of the poet.

so little open prairie left      little waves of bluestem     little    

            fuzzy tongue penstemon        quieter the golden currant

                        nodding onion quieter now as well

 

only a few clusters of Colorado butterfly plant still yawn into the night

 

            where there once was prairie

                        a few remaining fireflies abstract themselves

over roads and concrete paths

 

                  prairie wants to stretch full out again and sigh—

 

            purple prairie clover       prairie zinnia

                          prairie dropseed nodding into solidago

bee balm brushing rabbitbrush—prairie wants      prairie wants      

       prairie wants

Copyright © 2023 by Camille T. Dungy. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 21, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.