Cesca Janece Waterfield
i.
The bulb partly lighting the bridge is soon to blow.
Even now it blinks slowly from its hold on the boathouse dormer.
I’m not undone by inconstancy: It glows yellow behind the trees,
and I study the silent shadow-forest on my thighs,
on my arms lying still in my lap.
It fades, and no one could make out how tired I’ve become.
ii.
I know it’s love because I’ve begun to list
ways I can abandon it:
Like a bird arrowing suddenly out
over the river;
or with dim relentless progress,
like the long train now behind me
that rumbles my stomach like hunger.
iii.
How I want this man
I’m watching to wade through,
bend toward himself in the water,
and rise,
gripping the coin
that sank for someone’s wish.
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Cesca Janece Waterfield is the featured poet for Volume 13 of Emprise Review. Visit her interview page for more info.
