A Fine Appendix
One day I looked up and saw
a v of wings over the plains
like a long oboe note and I was
helpless with love.
I want to thank the bonfire sex,
the banjo that is late kitchen evenings
baby asleep in my arms, all heat
and heartbeats visible.
I want to thank the hush
of ancient trees,
the anachronistic artifact
that is the appendix. How strange
I am not a heifer or a pumpkin.
How fine it would be.
*
Deborah Bacharach is the author of two full length poetry collections Shake & Tremor (Grayson Books, 2021) and After I Stop Lying (Cherry Grove Collections, 2015). Her poems, book reviews and essays have been published in Poetry Ireland Review, New Letters and The Writer’s Chronicle among many others. Find out more about her at DeborahBacharach.com.
