The Bluestone Review 2020

The Bluestone Review 2020

Poetry

would mean leaving you. You are the ocean. And I’d rather drown in you than breathe without you. Autumn Meditations By Debi Swim When summer has dog-eared her welcome out her sere winds drying the spit from my mouth I wonder if earth longs for relief, too? Does she meditate on cool nights, morning grass with seeded heads bejeweled with dew? Does she dream in shades of bronzed-brown, pumpkin, russet, gold… bold pigments of deep rich hues, covet the crunch of withered-leaf strewn paths and snapping acorns under wandering feet? Does she make a list, check off each to do… thickening the sap, nudging the fox squirrels, slowing the heartbeat of the bear, I swear, there’s so much to do, closing down, stripping, draining, shriveling, decelerating,

planting somnolent seeds in living things… Are these the things autumn meditates on? “Do you know what the earth meditates upon in autumn?” from Pablo Neruda’s “Book of Questions” Study in Grey By Debi Swim

I look up from my book at the sound of the rain it’s pounding pulse draws me to the window where gradient degrees of opaque fog drifts thinly as mosquito netting deeper within damask flocking and furthest away semi-sheer pearl organza mountain tops misty lines upon a shadowy bulk. I have become a grey thing stationary, staring, gripped

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