Today's poem is by Rachel Dillon

If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home by Now
       

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.

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Copyright © 2024 Rachel Dillon All rights reserved
from Asheville Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission