Masked Litany 5: After Waiting, Unmasked Visitors, by David Wright

What could matter on the hike—black raspberries grown wild and devoured? The blue
and purple dragonfly on its veined launching leaf? Green sheen of prairie weeds,
and a thousand invisible birds complaining? My children reunite for a day, perfumed 

in bug spray. A tall man picks a wild yellow coneflower for the daughter of mine
he will marry, and tucks it into her pulled back hair, grown pandemic thick as cattails
and bluestem cluttered with bees. My good camera opens its lens, unhindered by worry 

for an afternoon, my eye telephotoed towards a single blackthorn. I blink away the dangers
of puncture and pain. These hills stay here because of these roots. The bean field stays
and yields because of glyphosate and subsidy. For the camera, we, unmasked, smile. Yes, 

a small snake weaves through the grass and across my sandaled feet. Yes, I feel it
crest my arches and depart among stems. In the photo, you cannot tell my sick-gut-flutter
has returned. And these three, their hands stained by berries, shoulders melting into mine, 

do not need me to save them; the trees, prairies, the always temporary field of profit can only
save themselves when the mown and tended borders vanish into new matter: trees rotted
to soil; crops become wild; flowers lost to birds; weeds fired into flowers no one can name.

~~~

David Wright’s poems have appeared in 32 Poems, Ninth Letter, Ecotone, and HAD, among others. His most recent poetry collection is Local Talent (Purple Flag/Virtual Artists Collective, 2019). He lives in Central Illinois where he teaches writing and literature at Monmouth College. He can be found on Twitter @sweatervestboy.