Three poems by Constance Bacchus

helen imagines she is cailleach on a snowed in Thursday

wears a wig of stiff twigs
glasses, holding the sun
hat, a lot of makeup or none

she has a feather brown flying coat
rainbowed scarf, a bandaid on her left hand

carries a folded newspaper
totes a purse

once a briefcase

always, always
she never smiles

& when she reads
the funnies you
can’t see who she is

what do rattlesnakes think
when helen arrives late for dinner

she always steals their thunder
a mountain landing upon them drastic

they spy outside
rocks/belligerent coyotes

wonder does she bring poison
will she cut their hair, call it mange, will their food taste like ash

can they stand to live with
the mountain
she seems so demanding

& after all,
summer belongs to the animals

cailleach swings on the dock, makes waves,
stomps to a song by queen

badb comes close

you owe
salmon traded for grass

bright amarillo at the gloaming

& carp in
classes doing their best
to make up

when she takes a nap,
in case you don’t know

sometimes osborn bay resembles a
mirror & she thinks of
mirror lake & wonders

how it got it’s name is it
a she, a he, it’s down near
blue a
place to swim & she supposes

at times it must
resemble osborn bay with
hills & valleys, skies
full of bald eagles, deer/
bears in tall grass running,

past trees that look dry

its not hammering in the room
next door early morning, demanding
it might be a rock
sitting with rings of coots
gathered round

she thinks of the smoke
returning in august turns
to stone

crawls across dried hills
of hardened grasses
gold views
blues

she thinks the ravens talk to her
flying solo
crows in groups
geese & she listens
swallows

stretching flat
she floats, water in her
ears, headaches

put off, head back

she makes a grimace
as sweat draws
ants, sand, water on her book
waits for her husband to wake
her