May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013
All but braying, a sadness that animal.
And the walk is a rite wherein
the sadness may, if only
for a moment, forget its many reasons to be
(hence the attention again
to other fields,
where leaves burn by the fence-
posts and the fields further out,
forgetting the leaves altogether and the smell of them).
The walk is a ritual wherein
the scenery exists mostly outside the self.
There is a ridge then below us only ocean,
a kind of shorthand for stillness
born on the back of something else.
This poem was one of the winners of the 2013 "Discovery" Poetry Contest.
While we have you...
...we need your help. While reading Nocturne by Julia Guez, you might have noticed the absence of paywalls at Boston Review. We are committed to staying free for all our readers. We've also gone one step further and become completely ad-free. This means you will always be able to read us without roadblocks or barriers to entry. It also means that we rely on you, our readers, for support. If you like what you read here, pledge your support to keep it free for everyone by making a tax-deductible donation.
May 01, 2013