Poised to Catch the Wind

Two days before Thanksgiving

I lock my car with its

fine veneer of Oklahoma dust

in the parking lot near Harms Woods

and dance cheek to cheek with

a bitter Illinois wind up a hillside

to the top of the overpass.

The meadow once blooming

with staghorn sumac, ox-eye daisies

and stouthearted bands of milkweed

today lies barren and buzz-cut.

Not one bedraggled milkweed stalk

poses for my camera,

not one split-open pod hangs

in the balance, its silken threads

poised to catch the wind.

I tramp through moldering leaves

searching in vain for signs that

milkweed still grew here last summer

when the monarchs returned,

when clouds of the quivering

orange and black butterflies

alighted in this woodland,

when they came home like me.