New Poetry by Lisa Bledsoe

Below the Ancient Border Trees

In a low crease of mountain lies a seeping

palace of alchemy and decay. Here

there is severance, bloom and outrageous gift,

where Mystery sings her invitation:

Walk here with me, unhurried.

Wear boots you don’t mind getting soaked or foul

and carry a stout branch for balance in the mire.

Here your private hopes and furies are unjudged.

You are known, a confusion of roots, stinging vines, 

spoilage and color: orange and olive, deep stone

and umberleaf—all with the sweet breath of sky

above. Will you name your ruin and collapse

haunts of potential? What would it call for

but your own inpouring of immoderate love?

- © Lisa Bledsoe 2021

Watched by crows and friend to salamanders, Lisa Creech Bledsoe is a hiker, beekeeper, and writer living in the mountains of Western North Carolina. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the author of two full-length books of poetry, Appalachian Ground (2019), and Wolf Laundry (2020). She has new poems out or forthcoming in The Blue Mountain Review, American Writers Review, Sky Island Journal, Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel, Red Fez, and River Heron Review, among others.