Wednesday, 4 December 2024

Three Poems by Sarah Russell

 




Breakfast with Squirrels 
 
I take my coffee out back to drink in the cool  
before another sun-seared day. Hummingbirds  
keep me company, hovering between penstemon  
and hyssop, buzzing my yellow cup before drinking  
long at the honeysuckle. Dragonflies duel above  
the pond, vying to rule this spring-fed kingdom. 

Oh yes, the squirrels . . .  
who peer at me from fence posts, sharp black eyes  
and chatter, asking for breakfast. I toss some peanuts  
into the flowers, and they are down in seconds, quarreling 
over the best spots under draping plume grass or near  
the daisies and lupine. They look like they’re saying grace  
in a tiny sanctuary, perched on their haunches, tails  
curled like a monk’s cowl, peanuts held in their paws  
as a supplication to this summer morning.  

 

 

Change of Seasons 
 
Summer turns sullen in August,  
stubborn with laggard heat,  
 
even as the maples start to blush 
and geese grow restless, taking great,  
 
noisy practice turns from pond to field.  
Castanets of crickets fill the night,  
 
and fireflies blink farewell. I gather  
the zealous bounty of zucchini  
 
and tomatoes, find caterpillars  
living large on my prized basil.  
 
Come evening, after the stagnant  
midday, I feel the first cool breeze  
 
of autumn. I breathe it in like a traveller  
at the gate, asking for a drink from the well. 
 

 

End of Autumn 
 
The small purple asters,  
still blooming,  
bow their heads to late October winds. 
I sit against the old oak. Its leather leaves  
crackle, gossiping about the coming snow.  
Passersby are zipping jackets, pulling hoodies  
tight to cover ears. Though robins have headed  
south, nuthatches and chickadees linger at the feeder,  
even when yearling squirrels shimmy up to fill  
their cheeks and race off toward the pine. Shadows  
are long by four. I’m glad for stew simmering 
in the crockpot and logs stacked for a fire this evening.  
I rise and find a new ache in my bones. The walk home  
feels lonely. My younger days have faded like summer  
warmth, and the ancient north wind beckons.






Sarah Russell’s poetry and fiction have been published in Rattle, Misfit Magazine, Third Wednesday, Poetry Breakfast, and many other journals and anthologies. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. She has two poetry collections published by Kelsay Books, I lost summer somewhere and Today and Other Seasons. Her novella The Ballerina Swan Lake Mobile Homes Country Club Motel was published by Running Wild Press. She blogs at

https://SarahRussellPoetry.net

 
 

 

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