The Good People
Pull back a curtain of emerald stems
to reveal an other-vale. Tread carefully
through a forest of fuchsia stalks—tart
rhubarb sheltered by leaves like lily pads.
There’s so much sun in this green,
it bleeds shade. A little red wagon
lies rusted in the dirt, where two
prairie lilies peek around a wheel.
There are virginal buds, promises
like ring boxes, blush with petals.
Cement won’t keep them out, stems bloom
between cracks, surrounded by moss patches
like an exploded orange on grey rivets.
Slide down a curl of grass, a waterslide
of raindrops to the clarity of a line
of smooth rocks—sand dollar moons
and the blackened blue of mussel shells.
The tide could wash them away but
spiky leaves hold the wave. Lie under
a broken sky so fragmented a glimmer
of gossamer wings catches the light
and refracts. Remain cautious,
throw crystal salt on your path
say their name.
Courtney Bates-Hardy holds a Master’s degree in Creative Writing from the University of Regina. Her work has been published in several literary journals, including Carousel and Room. Her first chapbook, Sea Foam, was published by JackPine Press in 2013. When she’s not writing poetry, you can find her reading comic books or practicing yoga. She lives in Regina with her husband and their imaginary dog.