To Red Rock Beach

I  don’t  think  you  notice.  As  if  a  fog  about  us—you   tell   me  about   loss,
moving forward, a long slow cold and distance, ex-wife’s want to make things
better,   your  that  it never  was,  and  could not be. We turn  together to  this
passage.    After  examining  the   white  trail   that   steeps   up  and  over, the
uncertain  flatter  lower rocks  with  unknowable  distances between  serrated
edges, we  slow toward  the  low.  Where goat-like  I  used to find small places
for  my  hands  and  feet,  projecting  forward  lithely,  I now  falter.  Over  and
over you reach a hand to steady me.

 


 

Photo by Misha Bruk

Anne F. Walker’s poetry has won Eisner Prizes at UC Berkeley and Canada Council Arts Grants, among other honors. She completed doctoral work at the University of California, Berkeley and is an Assistant Professor at Holy Names University in Oakland, California. These 100-word prose poems concentrate attention on precision of image, narrative, and language.

 

 

 

 


 

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© MARY: A Journal of New Writing, 2017