Beverly Burch has published poems in many journals, including recently: Poetry International, Many Mountains Moving, Slant, Red Rock Review, Tar River Poetry, North American Review, Southern Poetry Review. She has published two collections of nonfiction: On Intimate Terms (U. of Ill.) and Other Women (Columbia). She has taught literature and psychology at DeKalb College and New College of California. She is also a psychotherapist in Oakland, California.

See other poems:

• Skiing Antarctica
• Dead Center
• Sky/Branches/Sky
• Beatitude
• When You Ask About Your Native Country

Email Beverly Burch at bvburch@yahoo.com

Beverly has been featured in PoetryMagazine.com.

Above the Bay

Ohlone Canyon turns slick after heavy rain,
but we agree to meet, hope the muck’s hardened.
Our trail looks churned, congealed, a mosaic—
sticks-rock-mud—a rough ribbon in the woods.

We hold hands inside your pocket. A truce,
you say. I didn’t want to name it, make us self-
conscious. Signs of recovery. Yes.
I could take issue, but the sky’s a blue relief,

Farallones visible past the Golden Gate.
Why is tenderness not simple? Like the throb
of warmth in April, the reliable way
spring offers itself. And the glossy body

of the bay below, how sun falls across
water, gold paint spilling over broken glass.

First published in Tar River Poetry. Copyright © Beverly Burch

[next poem]