Issue 21: Grief

Single Issues > 2011 > Issue 21: Grief > In Bridgewater, my room

Adrianne Smith

In Bridgewater, my room

was set in the front of the house,
overlooking the yard.
The hillside fell gently to the road below
and to the Beaver River that
slipped easily between the hills.
          One night my father in a whisper, sang—
          swing low, sweet chariot, coming for
          to carry me home.

And afterwards, I stood at the window and stared
down the lights casting long glares
into the river. I pushed
the sash up, the night air breathing
on my face, I squinted my eyes.
          The beams stretched into stars—
          long tails of light cut through the darkness,
          joined together, and snaked in the sky.

And I listened for the train,
lumbering down the tracks behind my house,
the whistle first, both deep and shrill,
and then the rattle of metal. I stood,
lingered in its sound. With its passing,
          I hummed the last of the song—
          a band of angels coming after me,
          coming for to carry me home.

The train carried on and crossed the river,
moved off to shake the bones of other homes.
The engine light blazed in the water and the whistle
hung in the air, reached out to the city’s edge
          where my mother slept alone—
          the hospital floors heavy above her head
          and her sleep slow in coming.

“In Bridgewater, my room” is the winning poem selected by judge Naomi Shihab Nye for the 2011 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize.

Adrianne Smith, originally from Las Cruces, New Mexico, moved to Jackson, Mississippi, to study art and creative writing at Belhaven University. She graduated this spring, and now manages a Chinese restaurant to pay the bills. She was awarded honorable mention in the 2009 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize and second place for poetry in the 2010 Southern Literary Festival. Read an interview with Adrianne Smith by Ruminate staffer, Keira Havens.