Amy Dryansky
Flowers That Bloom Early & Disappear They Call Ephemeral
Witch hazel unfurls its ragged, yolk-yellow stars,
& herons arrive, awkward bodies
hunched astride their haphazard nests
empty & silent for now, but soon—
& robins return puffed up, strutting,
to yank at whatever dares emerge from the dirt,
& the light is back, inching up the horizon,
at close of day a different slant,
& the shadblow buds bloom as the actual shad spawn
in the river & everywhere, water,
rushing down hillsides, filling ponds
where frogs crawl out of the cold mud
to racket their flag of availability, family,
& mate, even after months frozen they’ve not
abandoned desire, & I feel it too, in my body
& the body of the world, how inside us
a kind of clockwork uncoils, loosens,
unticks our minutes, makes space, as if to say,
I’m here, it’s safe, you can open, it’s safe, open.
Amy Dryansky’s third poetry collection, Ambergris, is forthcoming in September 2026, from Pine Row Press. A former poet laureate of Northampton, MA, she has also received honors from the Poetry Society of America, MacDowell, Massachusetts Cultural Council and Bread Loaf Writers Conference.