A Bobcat Waits

When I say I’m ready to die,
a nurse asks if I’m a believer.
No, no, I say, but I look forward

to all my atoms joining the universe,
a sign to the nurse that fever
carries me down a river past safety.

A thousand dollars to ride
in the ambulance, and I can’t say
I really enjoyed it. So this is death

I think and not for the first time.
Doctors gather round my bed,
my heart rocketing, salt tang

of a mouthful of blood. In the heat
I reach for a funeral-home fan
made from a tongue depressor—

cardboard resurrection, bolts
of light, rock rolled back. I touch
a small stone that falls open

to a trilobite lost in a mass extinction.
A bobcat alert in the long grass
flicks its ears and waits.

Barbara Daniels’ Talk to the Lioness was published by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press. Her poetry has appeared in Qwerty, Image Journal, Rogue Agent, and elsewhere. She has received four fellowships from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.