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Poem: Fold


From our bass boat’s slip on the Mystic
it’s a two-bridge wait—bascule and swing bridge,
before the river yawns into open water.

But the fog’s rolled in—
the nasal blowing of horns warning us away.
We do not go. We’ll see no terns picking at striper,
and if Agate’s captain unwraps his sandwich
alone in the mooring field, Restless and Resolute
rocking to port and starboard, we’ll not see him
fold into clouds like paper into vaporous cranes.

Leslie McGrath is a poet and literary interviewer living in Stonington, CT. Winner of the 2004 Pablo Neruda Prize for poetry, she is the author of Opulent Hunger, Opulent Rage (2009), a poetry collection, and Out From the Pleiades: a novella in verse (Jaded Ibis Press, forthcoming). Her chapbook focusing on mental illness and stigma, By the Windpipe, is forthcoming from ELJ Publications. Her poems have recently appeared in The Awl, Agni, and The Common. She teaches creative writing and literature at Central Connecticut State University, and is editor of The Tenth Gate, a new poetry imprint of The Word Works press.

Image Credits: Photo courtesy of Shutterstock

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