A wind blew through the almond trees.
The blossoms shook, the petals floated down
Past where I sat on the cliffs above the sea.
The waves reminded me a bit of the mounds
Of snow I’d left behind, if only for a week.
The locals though were wrapped in scarves and hats
Their faces long and pale as poplar leaves.
I watched the petals flood like cataracts
Into the sea. And then there was the roar
Below my feet or the wind that pushed
Away the fog which, ’til then, obscured
The bridge. That mass of steel, the twist
Of blacktop and wire, not orange but grey:
A spider-web across the gaping bay.
Daniel Rattelle is a poet and arts journalist from Western Massachusetts where he lives with his wife and two kids. He is the author of the chapbook Let Us Sit Upon the Ground (2017).
This is really a beautiful poem. I love the imagery, and the backstory that is only hinted at, and the rhyme and rhythm complement everything. At first, I was a little put off that some of the lines weren’t in pentameter, since the poem seems to be a sonnet and most of the lines are in iambic pentameter. But after reading through it again, I think the variations work really well. The ending is also nice– this man-made structure emerging like a specter from the natural scenery. Very well done.
A smashing poem. A surprising ending, almost like an emotional shock. Well done.