Waves lap my toes, speak
of coolness and healing salt.
Sand moves between my toes, asks
my feet to recognize our mineral kinship.
The Cliff shouts to me to come hither—
share the scent of its flower cover.
Heron summons me to solitude—
acknowledges its need for singularity of space.
Pigeon under the trestle coos to me
I coo back in communion of species.
Hairgrass and Barley along the Lagoon
salute with a wink as I listen
to their chat with the wind.
I comment to the nasturtium:
“How elegantly you climb that hillside.”
I tell the Squirrel, “I don’t eat acorns.
You need not worry about
my stealing your supper”.
I confer with the Dog about
its new haircut or bright smile.
Seeking acceptance. I pts, pts, pts
to the neighborhood Cat in query:
“Please consider approaching me?”
“How delicious you are,” I compliment the Blackberry.
Agapanthus balance globes of blue or white
on thin green dowel stems
nodding “Hello.” I return the greeting.
—
Joan Donato is a Bostonian transplanted to California 40 years ago. Writing poetry satisfies her. Retired from a career as a teacher and councilor she is committed to studying the craft of poetry. She strives to create sonic texture in her poems while nurturing her creative child in her desire to pen poetry.
