Issue Five

Autumn 2012


The Bridge

Sanding an old door, in the scent of fresh wood, the real task
is to ignore my children
paddling and playing Pooh sticks in the stream.

Great grandparents stalk like herons from the shade
as if they might fly in secret,
as if theirs were and always will be the gladder hotter days.

Light boned and angled they cross in a hesitant single file
and the children retreat step by step
to let them go carefully, balancing their weight.



Megan Watkins



eagle fractal