No one planted these little suns.
Untended, they spill artlessly,
inches high, on the forest floor.
Vulnerable to the lightest step,
they drop soft gold
on leaf clutter and dross.
Their yellow tongues
lap pools of light
from small cavities
in the underbrush.
I crouch to touch them,
brush dust from their lips,
turn them up to see me.
Knowing there’s so much I want
to ask them. So much
I want to say.
Carolyn Adams’ poetry and art have appeared in Steam Ticket, Aji Magazine, Topology, and Beatnik Cowboy, among others. She has been nominated for a Pushcart prize, as well as for Best of the Net. She is currently a staff editor for Mojave River Review, and a poetry editor for VoiceCatcher.
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