grass rustles near the pond,
mingling with the fearful whispers
of a father shielding his daughter
from the water’s edge.
he tries to draw her steps back
onto the concrete-paved safety
of the sidewalk, with harsh tugs
on her frayed shirtsleeves,
warning her of rabid mouths
that bite relentlessly
to guard their domain
even as their throats are wrung.
behind the tall grass, he says,
are the red-rimmed, beady eyes
of creatures who can find
your softest spots of skin to tear.
the girl, seeing no reason to obey
a terror she had not yet tasted,
shakes off her father’s grasp,
and steps into the nesting grounds.
her steps crackle on the dry grass
and startle the resting chicks.
a cacophony erupts from their beaks,
alarming the grown birds nearby.
the swans rush to bruise the girl’s arms
with beaks barbed like spear-points,
leaving a speckle of violet lesions,
one for each cygnet she had frightened.
shrieking, she dashes back
to her father, seeking his hands
to bandage the stinging souvenirs
from her lesson learned.
among the reeds, the swan’s necks
gleam like upright blades
from her view at the pond’s edge,
in the fading light of dusk.