Barbara Daniels – 1 poem

Sweet

Workers in glowing fluorescent shirts
mow and whack weeds. You and I
grab branches and roots to stop

our slide down a rutted path, juniper
seed cones like blue beads, years
counting down, too little time

to watch swallows drink on the wing,
like us in a hurry, stuffing insects
in wide open mouths of their young,

then gone again, hunting. I never know
when it’s the last walk, the last mosquito
tasting me. You say you admire God’s

excess, the surplus of ants, for example.
Boundless clouds. Noon rushes toward us.
A cardinal whistles sweet sweet sweet.

There’s barely time for our own lunch,
yellow mangos, Baldwin apples, sweet
cherries, juice on our fingers and lips.

🍃

 

Barbara Daniels’ book Rose Fever was published by WordTech Press and her chapbooks Black Sails, Quinn & Marie, and Moon Kitchen by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press. Her poetry has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Mid-American Review, and many other journals. She received three Individual Artist Fellowships from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.

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