Judith A. Brice: To Charlie, Beyond the Mist

Will the mist have vanished from the lake by the time you read this?
— birthday note to Charlie from a good friend

What she couldn’t know was your eyes

warm with the June wind, as you watch

the pond’s riffles, listen to them beyond

the call of terns, as they await a sign,

a shimmer, to plummet for perch straight

down through the evening sky. No, she couldn’t

know your unwavering eyes focused

on your book, as your fingers leaf the pages

slowly, steady through your gaze, looking

at the script, then up once more marking

the mist, the pines, the turning call.

Too, she couldn’t feel your evening

touch, tender and close, as you and I sit

entranced by the woodpecker, the primeval

scarlet-crested, pileated one, focused on his suet

oblivious to us, breeze quivering the leaves.

Copyright 2013 Judith Brice. First published in Bear River Review. Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.

Judith Brice is a retired Pittsburgh psychiatrist. She is the author of two collections of poems: Renditions in a Palette and Overhead from Longing.

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