Barbara A Meier
Bio: Barbara A Meier retired from teaching and moved from Oregon, USA, to Colorado, USA. She spends her time tutoring, writing, and when she can playing the card game Hand, Knee, and Foot. She has two published chapbooks, “Wildfire LAL 6”, from Ghost City Press and “Getting Through Gold Beach” which came out in November 2019 from Writing Knights Press. She has an upcoming chapbook of poetry, “Sylvan Grove”, coming out in March 2021 from The Poetry Box.
Ode to Sterling Creek
It only takes normal hearing to identifythe sound of Pacific tree frogs courting love in the shooting starsand jack-in-the-pulpitsringing out the wedding bells deafening in the moist nightsof spring where a collection of crocus emergefrom the snow cover in the shade of the three sequoia trees
the breath of night smells of growing things and their calls summon the forest creatures who dwellin the manzanita and laurel,harvesting morels and shaggy maneswith their tiny saws and picks
they ride the haunches of the treefrogclimbing the Doug Fir with their large toe padsto gather the yellow pollen in baskets made of needlessquirreling away their caches under forest debrisJust an Ordinary life that begins and endsin a frog song
the breath of night smells of growing things and their calls summon the forest creatures who dwellin the manzanita and laurel,harvesting morels and shaggy maneswith their tiny saws and picks
they ride the haunches of the treefrogclimbing the Doug Fir with their large toe padsto gather the yellow pollen in baskets made of needlessquirreling away their caches under forest debrisJust an Ordinary life that begins and endsin a frog song
The Mathematician’s Lunch
At the baseof the ranch housethe soil dusty dry velvetpockmarked by antlion densperfect funnels, inverted conesFibonacci pathways, spiraling downto the critical angle of repose where sandbecomes solid with sides of symmetry around thethe axis of the motionless mathematician lurking in the dust at the center of his world exposing body piercing mandiblesmeanwhile, the caravan of ants hustle between the pit and the edge of the concrete, unaware of the danger of the slick slopes of the antlion pits on the verge of a slump, hurtling sand bombs disrupting the repose, creating an avalanche an ant can’t climb and the ant flounders in the lion’s den, where the baby larva is anchoredby his forward pointed bristle, his lunch injected, ingested, and discarded like some used tissue