In Louisiana, Thirteen Crows Arc the Sky
I.
The air is like a wet cough. Her sneakers crunch
the dew dropped grass. The mosquitoes dart,
needle-like, desperate to siphon a drink
from salty skin. The gnarled trunk of a tree twists
like rope. A cloud of dragonflies hopscotch
the grass, pearly wings luminescent
in the morning light. Patchy sunlight threads
through the leaves of ancient trees.
In the creeping sunlight, a dirty puddle
becomes a kaleidoscope of colors.
II.
A bird lands and nests in the grass.
The raspy bellows of its breath
rattles its small frame. Its eyes close halfway
and it dies at her feet. She passes it again
later that day. Ants thread their way
between eye sockets and soft feathers.
III.
In the swimming pool, she tries to rescue
a still dragonfly, but it is already dead.
Its body is as blue as a jewel.
Its sheer, delicate wings droop.
She picks it up, cups it in the palm of her hands,
as if she holds it long enough,
it will join the others and dip and flit.
Beyond her, thirteen crows arc
the cloudless sky, wings like scythes.
The air is like a wet cough. Her sneakers crunch
the dew dropped grass. The mosquitoes dart,
needle-like, desperate to siphon a drink
from salty skin. The gnarled trunk of a tree twists
like rope. A cloud of dragonflies hopscotch
the grass, pearly wings luminescent
in the morning light. Patchy sunlight threads
through the leaves of ancient trees.
In the creeping sunlight, a dirty puddle
becomes a kaleidoscope of colors.
II.
A bird lands and nests in the grass.
The raspy bellows of its breath
rattles its small frame. Its eyes close halfway
and it dies at her feet. She passes it again
later that day. Ants thread their way
between eye sockets and soft feathers.
III.
In the swimming pool, she tries to rescue
a still dragonfly, but it is already dead.
Its body is as blue as a jewel.
Its sheer, delicate wings droop.
She picks it up, cups it in the palm of her hands,
as if she holds it long enough,
it will join the others and dip and flit.
Beyond her, thirteen crows arc
the cloudless sky, wings like scythes.
Peekaboo Moon
A peekaboo moon hides
behind a shutter of sky,
following the bed of a white truck.
Inside, broken tree branches
lie like polished pieces of bone,
while burnt leaves, shudder, shrivel
as a girl’s finger taps against a window then
disappears, a pebble falling down a well.
behind a shutter of sky,
following the bed of a white truck.
Inside, broken tree branches
lie like polished pieces of bone,
while burnt leaves, shudder, shrivel
as a girl’s finger taps against a window then
disappears, a pebble falling down a well.
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Candace HartsuykerCandace Hartsuyker has an M.F.A in Creative Writing from McNeese State University. Her work has been published in Quarterly West, Fiction Southeast, Southern Florida Poetry Journal and elsewhere.
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