By Inner Leaps and Bounds

The shamrock plants need watering, as do the baby
barrels. Mama cactus appears content,

for a dozen of her infants have been transplanted.
Together, her cacti family brighten the sunroom

in ceramic pot. Their dirt nursery holds an array
of feathers: blue jay, sparrow, and dove quills

stand in circular alignment. As if protective cradle,
I’ve taken them under my wing, feathered the nest.

Twelve feathers for twelve babies, my feather-fence
acts as a dreamcatcher—only good dreams

will do for this spiny brood. What we nurture,
nurtures us. The shamrock plants need watering,

as do the baby barrels. As if protective cradle,
I’ve taken them under my wing, feathered the nest.

There’s euphoria in flight, watching the rise
of fledglings. New growth prompts recollection.

Here, I envision, picture my body in motion—
bend my legs, lift my arms, take an inner leap—fly.