From the low bridge over the river you spoke,
blue lupines rising silently beneath the oaks,
weighed with the damp of evening.
Your words were carried away downstream,
lost to me. I felt a sadness,
heavy as stones.
I listen—bending of water
over rocks, wind in the arms
of the trees. I’ve learned the voices
of the robin, the towhee,
thrasher—useless except for
the way I decipher
what sounds escape from you,
which ones signal displeasure.
It’s not enough to go cursing into the forest,
hope you’ll come for me, then waiting—
for dusk, for signs of your tenderness,
for some bright corner
in the room of your body.
What was it you said?
Louder still, your silence hangs
over the water.
And all the while, the brown thrasher
among the sagebrush, singing.
c. B. L. Bruce, from upcoming collection Measures (Black Swift Press, 2021)
See it in the issue: https://feralpoetry.net/cachagua-road-by-b-l-bruce/
B. L. Bruce is a Pushcart Prize nominee and award-winning poet from Santa Cruz, California. With a bachelor’s degree in literature and creative writing from the University of California at Santa Cruz, Bruce is the editor-in-chief of the nature-themed literary magazine Humana Obscura, and the author of three books: The Weight of Snow, The Starling’s Song, and 28 Days of Solitude. Her work has appeared most recently in The Remnant Archive, Emerge Literary Journal, the American Haiku Society’s Frogpond Journal, Le Merle, Visitant, and Blood Moon, among others. Instagram: @thepoesis Twitter: @the_poesis.