Eclipse
A lone rooster, his swollen comb flops
as he scratches and struts. Ruling
only himself during the eclipse.
Does he close his eyes . . .
consoled by a silent roost,
fear the fox skull’s yowl?
He flails and tucks appetites
in a retrievable place.
In the false morn, you nap again
beneath crimson sheets. I cool on top
remembering days no sheath
could separate us. This shredded place
where we sleep, its bruised linens
will never again invite yearning.
Dawn slips past the moon.
From the fencepost, the rooster sounds.
Sam Barbee's poems have appeared Poetry South, The NC Literary Review, Crucible, Asheville Poetry Review, The Southern Poetry Anthology VII: North Carolina, Georgia Journal, Kakalak, and Pembroke Magazine, among others; plus on-line journals Vox Poetica, The Voices Project, Courtland Review, and The New Verse News. His second poetry collection, That Rain We Needed (2016, Press 53), was a nominee for the Roanoke-Chowan Award as one of North Carolina’s best poetry collections of 2016. He was awarded an "Emerging Artist's Grant" from the Winston-Salem Arts Council to publish his first collection Changes of Venue (Mount Olive Press); has been a featured poet on the North Carolina Public Radio Station WFDD; received the 59th Poet Laureate Award from the North Carolina Poetry Society for his poem "The Blood Watch"; and is a Pushcart nominee.
A lone rooster, his swollen comb flops
as he scratches and struts. Ruling
only himself during the eclipse.
Does he close his eyes . . .
consoled by a silent roost,
fear the fox skull’s yowl?
He flails and tucks appetites
in a retrievable place.
In the false morn, you nap again
beneath crimson sheets. I cool on top
remembering days no sheath
could separate us. This shredded place
where we sleep, its bruised linens
will never again invite yearning.
Dawn slips past the moon.
From the fencepost, the rooster sounds.
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