Kneeler – a poem by Barbara Daniels

Kneeler
 
She saw selectively—flaws 
in her skin, sagging thighs 
that bulked impressively 
 
over her knees. Her wooden 
kneeler clanked coldly, down 
for prayers, up for hymns. 
 
She sang in her sleep, waved 
an arm rhythmically, smiled, 
sighed. When she had breath, 
 
she breathed without thinking, 
thinking instead of thrushes 
in grottos of ferns, water moving 
 
beside them, songs plaintive, 
repeated, hawthorns unnamed 
except by the specialist, 
 
butterflies captured and held 
in her hands. She saw bits 
of blue wander through clover. 
 
Cars thrashed by. She didn’t 
believe in luck though 
she knew she was lucky. 
 
She knelt on the floor, on 
beach sand by water, on dark 
soil and the shining street.

Barbara Daniels’s Talk to the Lioness was published by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press in 2020. Her poetry has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Mid-American Review, and elsewhere. Barbara Daniels received a 2020 fellowship from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts. 

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s