Bridge: The Bluffton University Literary Journal

Watching roses die,
coins sink to fountain floors,
stitching plush limbs,
thinking amidst this numbness,
and desiring glamour to mask gore.

Read Dead Roses >

through poisonous heavens
stars smeared as glitter on glassy midnight,
raw ocean spray
flood onto northern tongues
shivering chills gushing exposed bone

Read Silent Melodies >

maybe you can trade the vase
toss it back to you and again to her
softly slapping palms and cupping the glass
every month or so
pluck some soggy-ended blossoms
dirt still hanging off the edge in clumps
pouring itself back in the crevices of the earth
when you clasp the stem too hard

Read A Pre-Splintered Suggestion >

To Josiah

You believed or you didn’t believe in what killed you
You believed or you didn’t believe in America
There are mourners. I hope you know.

Read For the Dead of Twenty Twenty, a Love Poem >

Film negative,
the kind with
two black borders:
one above, one below.

In the middle there,
see what the celluloid saw
before abandoning those waters.

Read Green Flash >

chills your skin
nearing blue

gray clouds billow, stark
against deep green grass
thick, dark, rich

ozone and petrichor and ice
the scents circle,
wind whips your face

Read A Windy Day on a Grassy Hill in the English Countryside >

It’s not that I don’t want to lie down,
become that kind of treasure chest in an aquarium
that will blubber bubbles and spread seaweed on the glass.
The kind that won’t rub off no matter how hard you try cleaning and
you’ll end up with
scratches on these mirrored walls anyway.
It’s not that I don’t want to fight.
But really,
but really, I am trying to learn that it’s okay to be okay.

Read Lie Down Your Head >