Index by Author

The Beatrice Ravenel Prize, Spring 2014
William Winslow
Late Autumn
Late Autumn marks our passage into town
along this river road. We stopped the car
and ran into a maple grove to grasp
an awkward branch and pull its patchwork down.

But nearer to our prize, the vision dimmed
and chills of something winter dulled the scene;
the leaves we clutched among the rustling boughs
were spotted black and torn by age and wind.

The road now seems much longer, nights are cold.
I lost myself in silence when you called
this winter worse than others—only saw
the rustle of a leaf, and you grown old.

©2014 Brian Slusher