Serving House: A Journal of Literary Arts
  • Home
  • About
  • Archive
  • Bio Notes
  • Bookshelf
  • Contents
  • Submit
SHJ Issue 15
Fall 2016

Passing Through

by Devon Balwit

We cross the Astoria-Megler bridge into Washington State
then cross right back, so taken are we by its arch built steep

to accommodate freighters and its long ribbon over causeway
ghosting with graceful seabirds Cortez’s soldiers as they fled

Aztecs in Tenoxtitlán. The wings of dead gulls ruffle up from
asphalt, the water dapples, a cargo ship painted GLOVIS

disappears beneath us. I look for it on the other side, but it is
gone, a trick of vision or of the Columbia bar, a doorway between.

A bead in a long string of stopped traffic, we scan the empty
widows’ walks and churches that hug the slopes, all awaiting

renovation. Perhaps, like once before, we will buy a five-buck
“surprise bag” from a rummage sale, and separate the junk from

the odd prize while sipping ale. Or maybe not. It may be enough
just to pass through like curlew, oyster catcher, and Canada goose.


SHJ Issue 15
Fall 2016

Devon Balwit

wears many hats in Portland, Oregon. Her poetry does likewise. Some homes it has found: Leveler, drylandlit, Birds Piled Loosely, The Fog Machine, The Fem, Dying Dahlia Review, The Yellow Chair, The Cape Rock, The Prick of the Spindle, The NewVerse News, Of(f) Course, txt objx, and 3 Elements.

“...we have been born here to witness and celebrate. We wonder at our purpose for living. Our purpose
is to perceive the fantastic. Why have a universe if there is no audience?” — Ray Bradbury