Barbara Daniels

Ghost Suns

I walk past a butchered deer
shot by a poacher. Blood, entrails.
 
A chickadee scolds, afraid of me.
Fear makes it angry. A woman’s body
 
was found here in leaves,
the search dog heroic, shadows
 
inflected by fear, stacked beach chairs,
boat wrong side down in the wind.
 
The sun comes up too far to the south now.
Suns follow me, searing holes
 
in my vision. Light moves through a narrow
lane of stone. I’m too proud to beg God
 
for what I need. Too proud to name it.
Why should the dead be an army? Why not
 
a carnival? They watch, bouncing a bit
on their toes, wearing their sequined caps.

Barbara Daniels’ Talk to the Lioness was published by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press. Her poetry has appeared in Qwerty, Image Journal, Rogue Agent, and elsewhere. She has received four fellowships from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.