New Poem from Black Swift Press Author B. L. Bruce, "Yellow," in Honor of #NationalPoetryDay

YELLOW
 

What I can’t forget is the sound
of that yellow warbler. Up and up
we climbed Wasatch Mountain,
poolings of snow lingering
in the shadowed valleys.
In the quiet along the riverbank
we did not speak.

Cupping our hands,
drinking the sweet alpine snowmelt,
the wind slipped through poplars,
and that warbler song echoed in the canyon.

Years later, I still hear it, that colorful sound,
and think of that day upstream,
those chalk-white poplars,
high mountain wind.

c. 2017, B. L. Bruce

Award-winning author of The Weight of Snow and The Starling's Song

2014 International Book Awards Finalist in the Poetry Category
2014 San Francisco Book Festival Honorable Mention Recipient in the Poetry Category
2014 USA Best Books Awards Finalist in "Poetry" Category
2017 Pacific Rim Book Festival Award Honorable Mention (Poetry Category)

Excerpt from 2017 Pacific Rim Book Awards Honorable Mention in Poetry: "The Starling's Song"

2017 PACIFIC RIM BOOK FESTIVAL AWARD RECIPIENT
(POETRY CATEGORY) - HONORABLE MENTION

In a similar vein as her award-winning The Weight of Snow, Bruce’s newest collection of poetry explores the themes of love, loss, and nature, both human and not. Written in its entirety during a twenty-eight day stay in a remote cabin in the forests of Northern California, B. L. Bruce’s chapbook, The Starling’s Song, affirms and renews the author’s proclaimed lyricism in thirty-five new poems.

• • • • •

MAGPIE

Once I begged to forget you.
Yet there you were,
beneath the old cypress
and then in the rain,
the sound of surfbeat echoing
against the small white house.

Often I’d dream of what it might be like
to love you, the art of it,
being recreated again and again.
Always, the dreams followed me
through the morning like a ghost.
I’d begin wanting you to love me:
the moth destroyed in pursuit,
all delicateness destroyed by flame.

And in the hours I am most lonely,
still I think of you. All those
long suffered months
learning to forgive myself,
your uncertainty, your judgment,
feeling foolishly weak-willed
and driven mad as a magpie
into those desperate breaths
before dawn.

c. B. L. Bruce