keep us safe from the ecstatic 
arrows of sandhill cranes twirling for 
a mate. Stop the small but mighty threat 
of hummingbirds in their armor, laughter’s
color, leaning into hydrangeas and sipping 
our breath. What good 
are great blue herons reflecting our quiet 
thoughts or mourning 
doves feathering our lonely
hearts? What peace without lead-
footed geese honking at slow-moving clouds. 
Our downcast eyes. How clear 
the sky, freed of billions of birds 
that steal our seeds, take advantage of our trees’ 
open arms. We’re told we won’t miss 
their singing, as if we could forget—
song is another migrant 
that seeks the light it brings.  

This article appears in June 2026.

Emily Davis-Fletcher has had poetry published in Tinderbox, Crannóg Magazine, the Irish Examiner and The High Window.