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Susan Kelly-DeWitt: Sunrise at the River

The light steps forth out of the heat
and darkness, out of the stillness
and ghost-lit world

while I feel the dead staring down
at me from some other shore
as if I was a minnow

at the bottom of a streambed.
Whatever it is I am to them
I see through their eyes

as the light climbs the ladders
of leaves, as the hours advance
with their shining

bayonets.

~~~~~

~~

Poem and image copyright 2025 Susan Kelly-DeWitt

Former Wallace Stegner Fellow, Susan Kelly-DeWitt is a poet and visual artist who lives in Sacramento, California.


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7 comments on “Susan Kelly-DeWitt: Sunrise at the River

  1. The Brit Beard
    October 23, 2025
    Horror Blogger's avatar

    Hauntingly beautiful! The dead staring down? Chills! Perfect for Halloween. 💀

    Like

  2. Luray Gross
    October 21, 2025
    Luray Gross's avatar

    A lot to be said about that last line – insidiously beautiful.

    For me, “light climbing the ladders” echoes John Haines’ line in “If the Owl Calls Again,”: “when morning climbs the limbs.”

    Both poems exercise our wish to see and experience the world through the eyes of another.

    Like

  3. Laure-Anne Bosselaar
    October 20, 2025
    Laure-Anne Bosselaar's avatar

    How warm & heart-full-&-felt your response to this poem, Jim.

    I’ll join by saying that I immediately quoted Susan Kelly-DeWitt in my journal about 2 minutes ago: “Here’s an image I’ll never forget of SKD’s poem “Sunrise at the River”:

    as the light climbs the ladders
    of leaves, as the hours advance
    with their shining

    bayonets.

    Wow.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. jmnewsome93c0e5f9cd
    October 20, 2025
    jmnewsome93c0e5f9cd's avatar

    One of my all-time favorite poems is Susan’s Psalm for Sunrise. It greets me every morning, mounted over the kitchen counter, cutting board at the ready. The two lines that most awaken me as a reader:

    Let the kettle cry out

    on its bed of blue flame.

    With today’s poem, DeWitt turns out a different morning. The blue flame of the distant kitchen range, and its joy in each day ahead change into a bayonet laden-battle, or the precarious life of a minnow. The dialogue here is with those who remain for us to grieve, in the streambed of the living and the dead. Visual whirlpool of hands, faces and objects.

    you can compare the two poems through the link here on Vox. They make an interesting counterpoint when we try to rise into our wakeful hours. Both powerful as works of art.

    Would be interesting to read what DeWitt has to say about their similarities and differences.

    Liked by 3 people

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This entry was posted on October 20, 2025 by in Art and Cinema, Environmentalism, Poetry, spirituality and tagged , , , , , .

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