In a small
a fallow field
A Transition Letter
Eleanor wrote today
and said that nothing’s been the same
since we split. The old apple tree in the yard
took its last wistful breath and decided
nothing is permanent.
The songbirds followed suit.
Never ones to be outdone
in drama, the flowers delivered soliloquies
and plunged their swords into their hearts.
They left us fruit to remember them by.
Meanwhile, she stuck close to the path,
sussing out the limits of things
so far unknown. Not a lot was found.
She settled in for wine and quiet
in the evening, and decided to read
what others had written
rather than writing herself.
Meaning glided by unwatched
and we are left with the strong possibility
of things remaining silent between us.
Poet, editor, translator, journalist, and teacher Austin Bragdon was born in the largely french-speaking rural expanse of northern Maine. He currently lives in Ypsilanti Michigan, and is a current creative writing graduate student at Eastern Michigan University, where he teaches undergraduate writing courses and serves as editor-in-chief of BathHouse Journal. His work has appeared in The Open Field and elsewhere.