Throwback to my two poems, "The Leaving" and "Fragility," which appear in my award-winning collection The Weight of Snow, first published in The 2River View. THE LEAVING By the heavy glass doors,you kneel to gather scattered clothes,your naked silhouette a shadowagainst the violet dawn.I know this shape your body makesagainst the sky. A leaf falls [...]
I drop a glove in the puddle of rainwater,and bending to remove itsee the reflection of my mother's figure,see the levy of years--the unexpected wither of skinas if waking to seethat it has snowedovernight. c. B. L. Bruce From "At Henry Cowell State Park, Early Winter" from my award-winning collection "The Weight of Snow," first [...]
Life in isolation during the coronavirus pandemic got me thinking of the time I spent 28 days in a small cabin in the remote forests of Northern California. I wrote about my time there, reflecting on the writing process, in my short memoir "28 Days of Solitude." Check out the newly refreshed edition, available now [...]
Near Window is a zine exhibiting a view from behind the nearest window out onto the world beyond; or, a view inwards from the outside. I'm excited to have two of my photographs, "Blurred Row of Trees" and "White Duck" published in their latest issue.
NORTH For a moment in the calm,between gusts of wind:the faint push of air beneath wing.The northern harrier drifts abovea flowering field of yellow mustard. Bobbing among the eddies,the murre learn centuriesof the waterwork and currents,driven unthinking by whatwe cannot know. Farther still, the north horizonis choked with fog;the clover lies trampled by salt windalong [...]
For a moment in the calm,
between gusts of wind:
the faint push of air beneath wing.
The northern harrier drifts above
a flowering field of yellow mustard.
Bobbing among the eddies,
the murre learn centuries
of the waterwork and currents,
driven unthinking by what
we cannot know.
Farther still, the north horizon
is choked with fog;
the clover lies trampled by salt wind
along the clifftop.
I turn my face into the sun.
Were it not for some small
I’d have lifted my arms
and fallen into the sea.
Award-winning author and Pushcart Prize nominee, California poet Bri Bruce (writing as B. L. Bruce) has been called the “heiress of Mary Oliver.” With a bachelor’s degree in literature and creative writing from the University of California at Santa Cruz, her work has appeared in dozens of anthologies, magazines, and literary publications, includingThe Wayfarer Journal, Canary, Northwind…
View original post 188 more words
More autumn months graced by frost,the flowering quince dies. I set outto walk the edge of the woods,think of all the pleasures in being alone. c. B. L. BruceFirst published by the Soundings Review PURCHASE COLLECTION Follow B. L. Bruce Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thepoesis/Twitter: https://twitter.com/the_poesis
Humana Obscura is now accepting submissions of poetry, prose/short fiction, and art for its Spring/Summer 2021 issue! Submissions will remain open until end of February 2021. WHAT WE’RE LOOKING FOR While we are open to style, we’re looking for work that is nuanced, raw, and imagistic with strong elements of the natural world or the [...]
The Remnant Archive AUTUMN 2020 ISSUE The Remnant Archive is an online journal comprising features on literature, art and history. READ THE ISSUE > When I Die When I die, burn my body. I hope to leave with you— among other things—a sort of fury, enough for you to imagine me beating the ground with [...]