***
Weeding at six forty-five
A.M. and already
I am perspiring.
Little rivers tickle down my back and face, mixing with the citronella I
bathed in, before venturing into mosquito territory. There is a sparrow
singing
in the cherry tree, serenading early risers. I sweat and remind
myself that all this bending will keep me young, allegedly. I spot
a dragonfly
on the bee balm
right next to my leg.
Breath skips out
of me. Now
he flies,
spins,
thin
as a
whis
per,
land
ing
on a
shoe,
resting
from
what
ever it
is a
dra
gon
fly
d
o
e
s
!
A.M. and already
I am perspiring.
Little rivers tickle down my back and face, mixing with the citronella I
bathed in, before venturing into mosquito territory. There is a sparrow
singing
in the cherry tree, serenading early risers. I sweat and remind
myself that all this bending will keep me young, allegedly. I spot
a dragonfly
on the bee balm
right next to my leg.
Breath skips out
of me. Now
he flies,
spins,
thin
as a
whis
per,
land
ing
on a
shoe,
resting
from
what
ever it
is a
dra
gon
fly
d
o
e
s
!
Published 7/14 - Bards Annual 2014 - a Poetry Anthology
You have a wonderful way with words, Barbara.
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