Poem: Barbara Daniels

a photo of a starling on a wooden ledge looking down with foliage in the distance


Seeds fall like spots of light
and lodge between bricks
on the patio and in warm
folds of my clothing.

Each pointed blade of green
in the garden stretches toward
sunlight and finds it, shifting
quietly. The starlings’ nest emptied

onto the lawn today. I hate
to listen to birds importuning,
starlings and finches disfigured
by need following parents

and moaning. People keep telling
me, “Don’t let your life go by.”
I never ask what they mean.
Tendrils like skinny worms reach

for something to climb up on.
I’ll stay here among blooming
grasses. My sighs might be
breaths, mere slippage of air.

Barbara Daniels’ book Talk to the Lioness is forthcoming from Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press. Rose Fever was published by WordTech Press. Daniels’ poetry has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Mid-American Review, and many other journals. She received three fellowships from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.

Image by Danny Chapman

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