from pixabay
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.
Fevers of the Mind 