Julia Bouwsma

Pastoral in the Anthropocene

It’s the uncertainty that corrodes,
that greens me most—I fold myself
into myself, cordon off and wait

for sprout. Or I pace the loop road
daily, catalog each effort
to survive. Panic grows tectonic—

the erratic at the crest of the hill
now an ecosystem all its own—lush moss
muscles to rot atop this granite skull crest

until the topsoil’s thick enough to root
a sapling. What will hold us? The rusted Saab births
a forest of branches from windows and roof

out on the back lot. Bullet holes
constellate its cream-walled sky. Shotgun casings
bloom yellow in place of daffodils. One by one,

the old patterns chip and flake, early snows
without frost. Our dirt road, suspended
in partial hibernation, heaves

and buckles, chews its own
mass lean. Ice slicks so dense they
shine a mirror. Our anxious faces

stare right back. Nothing hardens properly
anymore. We’re soft, porous, prone
to radio monotone, each day’s

new prophecy. We bide our time, we watch.
Again our wells run dry. River recedes
to summer bones before the rime is barely off.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Julia Bouwsma lives off-the-grid in the mountains of western Maine, where she is a poet, farmer, freelance editor, critic and small-town librarian. She is the author of two poetry collections: Midden (Fordham University Press, 2018) and Work by Bloodlight (Cider Press Review, 2017). She is the recipient of the 2018 Maine Literary Award; the 2016-17 Poets Out Loud Prize, selected by Afaa Michael Weaver; and the 2015 Cider Press Review Book Award, selected by Linda Pastan. Her poems and book reviews can be found in Grist, Poetry Northwest, RHINO, River Styx and other journals. A former Managing Editor for Alice James Books, Bouwsma currently serves as Book Review Editor for Connotation Press: An Online Artifact and as Library Director for Webster Library in Kingfield, Maine.