The Wind, My Mother, and Grief

by Subhaga Crystal Bacon

The softness of the young bunch grass slays me
as it sways in the treacherous wind, small green
brooms that sweep the whole field above the ravine,
tips in a blur of beauty like a Monet. By summer
it will be knee high with sharp edges that whisper
when I wade through. By fall, it will reach my waist,
obscure the rocks and pocked holes at its base.

Der wind, der wind, das himlische kind, my mother
used to say. The wind, the wind, the heavenly
child. Today it’s more demon, tearing my clothes
with cold fingers, sending fine hairs into my eyes.
Are they tears of overwhelm or tears of grief?
Aren’t they the same, the way what I love in May
might turn to smoke and cinders in July?


Subhaga Crystal Bacon is a Queer poet living in rural northcentral Washington on unceded Methow land. She is the author of four collections of poetry including Transitory, recipient of the Isabella Gardner Award for Poetry, forthcoming in the fall of 2023 from BOA Editions, and Surrender of Water in Hidden Places, winner of the Red Flag Poetry Chapbook Prize. Her recent work appears or is forthcoming in 45th Parallel, Rogue Agent, The Indianapolis Review, and Rise Up Review. She is an avid hill-walker and lover of nature who spends most days contemplating what’s moving, growing, or arriving around her.