they are only ducklings for a moment, mouths like shovels as yet they cannot see past the reeds float graceful islands sporadic in narrow channels the winds pick up they say clouds in water reflecting they echo boulder columns reflecting eagles dismissed lampreys & sturgeon hiding trying to fly are drawn to swim to the water escape in the blues the wind doesn’t reach they aren’t left & their colors are not just of nature but the wind explains the sun the sun the sharp acrid aroma of the fire running arms flailing to see them entranced by all the things they brag
Constance Bacchus currently lives with her daughter in the Upper Grand Coulee of Washington state. Her poetry can be found in various literary journals including Cirque Journal, Dreich Broad Review, Permafrost Magazine, Blue River Review and Outlook Springs. Ms. Bacchus has a new poetry book out called divorcing flowers (Alien Buddha Press, 2021) and another soon through Red Mare Press. Recently she won a prize from Yakima Coffeehouse Poets but doesn’t know what it is yet. And sometimes, she works at the library.