Erica Reid

Preface

Someone has fixed bells to the cottonwood trees.
January air moves through them like icy wire.

Someone has laid lanterns along the exposed riverbed,
their light a golden water, a suggestion of fish.

Someone has placed holly berries in each deer track,
a rosary approaching the river, bowing, and looping back.

                Someone has recently dusted the kingfisher.
                Someone has passed this way before me.

She has painted the wind with cloves.
She has been brewing pine needle tea with honey.

Was I meant to bring a gift? I riffle my pockets.
I used to carry peanuts for the crows. Instead

I drape a garland of rabbit prints across the shadows
between trees. I do not know her. I guess at her language.

Erica Reid is a Colorado poet, editor, and critic. Her poems have been nominated for Best New Poets and the Pushcart Prize, and have been recently published or are forthcoming in Rattle, Broadsided Press, Able Muse, The Lyric, and more. ericareidpoet.com