By: Constance Bacchus
the sun is parading, painting shadows
through fields of
hay sitting
w/each tree stretching
ready for heat & the sky
is undressing black, mere grey
w/subtle streaks of white
it will be hot, promises
a sudden amarillo wash over sheds
by trailers parked level
& those shadows find
their way through all the bird
sound casting in the weird
colors weighting on june
a new door opens, lets in cold,
the mirrored window allows sounds of cars
miles away, a crow message, birds
on all sides, sounds from a garden
exiled, a sanctuary & somebody turned
on the water
Constance Bacchus lives in the Pacific Northwest with her daughter. They run among rattlesnakes and marmots near a desert reservoir. Her writing can be found in City Brink, Revolute, Empty Mirror, IceFloe Press, The Gorge Literary Journal and Salmon Creek Journal. Currently she is working on her first poetry book, Lethe and a little chapbook.
"This poem is about when we first moved to Coulee City, we were in the midst of the pandemic and I was in the process of a divorce. I woke up one morning and looked out the window at the field beside us. The sun hit it just so and I had to write about the light and shadows."