Pray tell, do your ears share what others hear?

Or are they hollow?

Harvested with a collection of nests

and frayed willow bark.

If you could pray,

tell me what language you speak?

I have many inquiries left untouched…

perhaps your phone disconnects

when a call is heard, mayhaps

you can only listen to so much.

Don’t forget to check your inbox.

I sent you a letter with metallic

green-yellow butterflies

(just like the ones you have in

the mountains of New Guinea

that have beautiful birdwings—

the ones you loved so much).

And I hope you are not mad

because I planted our cousins

in the backyard.

Pray tell,

DON’T TELL ANYONE.

They are Rose’s family

and she would not appreciate

them being displaced.

You can place me! Maybe…

in the center of some large garden you made,

I would not be upset:

I would scare off crows for you.

I would simply not expect less.

Pray tell mother,

why is your time with me just so short and sweet?

Just like with your brother

Plum,

or your niece

Blueberry,

why do I have to leave you?

Ariel Papas (she/her) is a third-year English major who is always quietly listening to nature. She tries to find new ways to reconnect humans with nature through poetry. More often than not, you can find her cracking open a new nonfiction nature book or rereading Emily Dickinson poems.