There is a rush of wings, a bevy

of cousins in the thrush family.

Their feathers are not the lush

kaleidoscope of a posh peacock.


They lack the hummingbird’s

hushed helicopter wings laced

with blushing pinks, rose, greens.


No, these voyageurs who return

carry sky on breasts and wings.

An azure gush descends like grace.

Shush, the bluebird sings.





Hay una ráfaga de alas, una bandada

de primos en la familia de los zorzales.

Sus plumas no son el caleidoscopio.

lujoso de un pavo real lujoso.


Faltan el helicóptero callado de

las alas rojizas, verdes,

rosadas del colibrí.


No, estos viajeros que regresan

llevan el cielo en sus pechos y en sus alas.

Un torrente azul desciende como la gracia.

Susurra, canta el pájaro azulejo.



A “Naturalized” Minnesotan since 1983 and retired professor since 2019, Becky Boling has published creative nonfiction, dramatic monologues, short stories, poetry (The Ekphrastic Review, Lost Lake Folk Opera, Willows Wept Review, Persimmon Tree, 3rdWednesday Magazine, Moss Puppy Magazine, Misfit Magazine, MPR’s Pandemic Poetry featured her poems. She shares the post of Northfield’s Poet Laureate, D. E. Green.

*Translated by Sarah Degner Riveros