Once

                a golden shovel after a Terri Glass haiku

Once upon a time, dear grandchild, they flew. With

tiny bodies, tinier legs, they were a

black-striped band of the most delicate

gardeners. They dipped in open flowers, the brush

of their hairs collecting golden dust, then flew on. I

remember they would cultivate, gather

from families of irises, orchards of apples, pollen

sticking and unsticking, clinging and dropping from

one cucumber, avocado, cashew, to the next. And the

buzz they made was electric. A flower

was an exquisite creation, but so was the bee. Yes, once

upon a time they made motion in fields; each bee’s

dance-like flights and stops doing the world’s work.

This poem first appeared in Once: A Golden Shovel Collection (Kelsay Books, 2023).

—

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 and Heights Arts’ Heights Writes Community Team. Chapbook: Aardvarks, Bloodhounds, Catfish, Dingoes (Dancing Girl Press, 2018); full length book: Once: A Golden Shovel Collection (Kelsay Books, 2023).