Bridget Brush

The Bends

The clouds cast           shadows over the canopy, light
cascades over the colored leaves           and this October
    afternoon is saturated. My mind barrels       like a swell

            to the little hikers, climbing
        the mountain, I know         that light

doesn’t reach them, not like it reaches me. I know that
kind of cold, I can feel            the altitude
in my ears, pressure         built up from Ohio

that won’t release until I am back
at sea         level. I used to think I was

made for mountain towns, but the peak
he came down from felt frozen. I think
he was trapped on the mountain, I think I feel trapped

between them. I know            those little hikers
can see the colors but light won’t              reach the trails

until December, and by then the colors will
have dulled. Maybe their eyes will            need a pulse
or two to adjust           to the sun            when it reaches them

again, the way my ears need         to find equilibrium up
and back down            these mountains. I don’t mind it

here but I have the ocean             blues. I can’t see
what’s over the peaks, I can’t see          what’s under
the trees. I miss           the horizon

line and the smell        of low
tide, this dry air           burns. 

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Bridget Brush has previously been published in Third Wednesday Magazine, Poetry South Literary Magazine and Ponder Review. She is a student at Salisbury University in the Creative Writing program. In her free time she enjoys spending time outside, listening to good music and working in her community.