"Disassembling" by Barbara Daniels

Disassembling

Verbs exhaust me,
all that action and
the stresses of linking.
Nouns and adjectives
touch your lips

and tongue together —
sour lime, juicy plum.
What’s the gray sky
called? Disjunction?
The noun thinks it’s

crucial, but the adjective
subjugates: blood
oranges, hot love.
In a chilled mirror
I’m disassembling — red

from my toenails,
scissoring from my legs.
An errant river
floods your yard,
confusing my lustrous

sandals, their subtle
changefulness. If I touch
you, am I an adjective?
What splashes back
in the hard rain?

barbara Daniels

Barbara Daniels’s book is Rose Fever (WordTech Press, 2008) and her chapbooks are Black Sails, Quinn & Marie, and Moon Kitchen (Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press). Her poetry has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Mid-American Review, and many other journals. She received three Individual Artist Fellowships from the New Jersey State Council of the Arts.

Headshot: Mark Hillringhouse

Photo Credit: Staff