Angry that I stepped across the culvert.
So much sun this year little boys never learn
to walk in the rain in yellow raincoats.
Arroyos full of wishes and troubles.
I’d forgotten what it was like to live with need,
again engrossed with hobbies and professional advice
(given). It is heaven until the next tranche
when water flows as from a distant season,
leaps the holidays with greater gifts and peace.
I keep losing my breath over forks in the path.
I’ll never take one so lost in conversation
while greeting strangers singing laugh/cry lyrics
to my stiff bass, and in the rain,
made better by rain, brought home under
blankets by rain, powered by my withholding.
Down the trail with mercy, with a sick dog
and delusional goals that make time itself
slap-happy while clouds nurture the foolish
golden gardens that call us to next year.
Lawrence Bridges
Lawrence Bridges’ poetry has appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry, and Tampa Review. He has published three volumes of poetry: Horses on Drums (Red Hen Press, 2006), Flip Days (Red Hen Press, 2009), and Brownwood (Tupelo Press, 2016). You can find him on IG: @larrybridges