Cathy Barber

Words

I keep finding words in my hair, my teeth
—exquisite, bicycle, tightrope—
in the corners of my rooms,
in the cupboards and between the cushions
—affogato, gaslight, appalling.

Even in the forest,
a word will float to the crunchy floor
in its best imitation of a leaf
—encyclopedia—
and the ants and chipmunks
are soon stepping on it.

In a book, of course,
there are all the expected words
but also the ones that skitter out of sight and
off the page too fast for me to read
—barman, flicker, auditor, grist.

At a concert I attended there were words on the chairs
—Tudor, plastic—
and circling above the singer’s head
like pilots waiting for instructions to land
—quantum, activist, whipped cream.

Once I found a word embedded in ice,
no, not in a stream or a lake
but the motel ice machine—exultant—
and when I returned to my room,
more words were draped on the spread.

I tried to peel thank you from my cheek
but hooked bowl and chatter,
dug in my pockets until I found twenty
and left it on the dresser.

 .

Cathy Barber’s poetry has been published across four continents, including in Slant, SLAB, Kestrel, The Hopper, and has been anthologized many times. She is a graduate of the Vermont College of Fine Arts MFA program and makes her home in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, where she serves on the board of Literary Cleveland. Chapbook: Aardvarks, Bloodhounds, Catfish, Dingoes (Dancing Girl Press, 2018); full length book: Once: A Golden Shovel Collection (KelsayBooks, 2023).

.

Back