Poetry By M F Drummy

r. nial bradshaw CC




Bitterroot

An herb, a river, wilderness.
Combine all three for
an intoxicating tea. This
line gets us from there

to here: A cool August
morning, vestigial crickets,
the song of an American
robin – of America. Where

r we again? Bitterroot.
Think it through, through
to the end. Upon awakening
I imagine when I can return

to bed again. At day’s
end, I tell myself, the end
of days, my days filled with
nothing other than thoughts

of me as yr young – now
grown-up – son, from birth
to this, to this day today,
in Bitterroot. Double t, double

r, double o. Easy to remember
for one who once surveyed
the empty sageland of Wyoming
with u, marveling at

the rose-colored blooms that 
appeared as though scattered by 
an unseen hand across the barren 
earth. Easy for me to recall, still,

but not for u, whose feet, like
mine, cannot be felt, just sensed,
like virga, the rain that does not 
fall from darkened clouds: these

many little deaths of memory u’ve
buried deep within yr worn-out soul
that flutters lifelessly above the sandy
banks of the river known as Bitterroot.




​
M F Drummy holds a PhD in historical theology from Fordham University. He is the author of numerous haiku, articles, essays, reviews, poems, and a monograph on religion and ecology (Being and Earth). His work has appeared, or will appear, in Allium, Amethyst Review, Feral, Frogpond, Main Street Rag, and many others. He and his wife of nearly 20 years enjoy splitting their time between the Colorado Rockies and the rest of the planet. He can be found at: X @mdrummy56 Instagram @miguelito.drummalino Website https://bespoke-poet.com