Poetry: "in the middle of july" by Connie Baccus

mule deer are walking where I water stopping for a moment under sun-

dried trees forgotten slurping grasses turned to dust golden goatheads

hard, thriving arrive from lakes, late in long shadows attempt to

disappear in curtains of red

wind has pulled them back demanding, los animales are becoming tame

in ways you cannot imagine, bald eagle young loitering under trees too

hot to roost in, flying across a 2 lane chased by smaller birds, small

birds who multiply on sprinkler water people have left out, food that

arrives in plastic bags sitting on picnic tables, performing for cats in air

conditioned trailers

it goes over 100 over a week, takes one degree after another & when

done, you are surprised by how much you can stand & wonder where the

hummingbird hides during late afternoon surely not in the muddy sock

slung over a branch unseen behind drying leaves, & finches & wrens

rush out to the sprinkler, pull up worms in the sopping grasses, crinkly

first, green, dry, thirsty everything is thirsty, robins pause, beaks open

they all are on the ground in spray from torn parts of the hose cats fly

from one window to another

spiders don’t seem to mind mice come in, the creature who makes

tunnels in the yard makes more where the water goes

the hydrangea is bitterly disappointed

Constance Bacchus lives with her daughter in the Pacific Northwest. Her work can be found in IceFloe Press, Feral, Dreich, Permafrost and Cirque. Lethe was her first book, followed by Swirl, Wind, Secret Dam Things and RV Parks & Politics. She is @bconnie509 on twitter.