Page 41 - WTP Vol. IX #10

The Donkeys in the Sun
In the angle of the house
where sun comes twice, reflected off the siding and the glass the donkeys bask, eyes closed
but not dreaming
for this is the dream:
the sunlight
the fence at chin level for them to scratch their neck
the snow melted off the hill
leaving the sweet ooze of newborn mud
and the smell of warm manure.
They do not know that it is only February and what they smell is not true spring but just the hope of it
for evidence:
the red-tailed hawk building a nest
in the high pines
the Christmas lights stripped
from the railing of the porch.
Inside the window of the house above them
a platoon of newly-hatched ladybugs swarms over the glass trying to find a way out.
Don’t tell the donkeys about storms still coming
or nights so cold
the water in their pail will turn to rock itself
and their eyelashes will stick together with their tears. Now it is sunlight, only.
Sun.
Demas is the award-winning author of thirty-five books for adults and children, including The Writing Circle and other novels, two short story collections and a memoir. The poems here, with the exception of “The Donkeys Hear the Sunset,” are reprinted from her chapbook, The Donkeys Postpone Gratification (Finishing Line Press, 2009). She is a Professor Emerita of English at Mount Holyoke College and a Fiction Editor at The Massachusetts Review.
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