The Road's Gully
by Susan Waters
What light is, is swallowed
by the road’s gully, the bristling-still thicket,
the heavy woods and the feathers of blackbirds
as they nod back through blackbird sleep.
I would not be amazed to find
my silhouette wandering lost
in this charred night, looking
for signs—the bent branch, a trail back.
Our bodies’ friction cindered me,
made me incapable again of flame.
How could I have loved anyone that much?
Susan Waters started out as a journalist covering hard news in upstate New York and for 13 years was a magazine editor and writer. Her publishing credits are extensive. She has won 10 prizes in poetry and has been nominated twice for the Push Cart Prize in Poetry. Her chapbook Heat Lightning was published in 2017 by Orchard Street Press. Currently, she is Professor Emeritus at New Mexico Junior College.
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