An egret stands thin by the bridge.
We imagine her call to the mist, click
our imitations. Elms grip the creek,
drop leaves to a beaver who blocks
the rushing thrum. Our feet press the mud
as we climb. And our hands press the trees.
And our hands press each other, tangle
with mottled branches. Bark printed
to skin, we steady our bodies
for the downhill clamber, that reminder
we are only visiting. The trees
throw their bones to the ground.
When we’re gone, a deer will leap
through them. I am here
resisting metaphor—I let it all be
what it is. Water slick over stone.
And us, turning home
to the highway and its signs—
where the road lies flat
and the sun hangs low.
This poem first appeared in the Asheville Poetry Review (Vol. 30, No. 1). Reprinted in Verse Daily (2024).
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Rachel Dillon has taught creative writing at colleges and high schools throughout New England and currently serves as Managing Editor of Ploughshares literary journal. A recipient of the inaugural Susan Kamil Scholarship from the BINC Foundation, Rachel has also received support from the Bread Loaf Environmental Writers’ Conference, The Kenyon Review Writers Workshop, and the Robert Pinsky Global Fellowship. Her writing can be found in Poet Lore, Verse Daily, Asheville Poetry Review, The Adroit Journal, and in the forthcoming essay collection DRIVEN TO WRITE: 45 Writers on the Motives and Mysteries of their Craft (Routledge 2025).
