Poem for Rebecca Wight

Inside a valley 
arranged in tableau—once, 
my hidden year, 
no one noticed we lay down 
in grass & leaves 
where later I buried 
my letter, where I wrote 
how it was.
Do you remember 
the coil of a literal phone line, 
print of a body’s missing 
breath. It’s hard to write 
the ancient years 
when you are midlife 
as a creek running 
hills of hardwoods. 
A hollow 
of her face 
off the forested 
page & all the books 
we read to find ourselves 
unseen. Who drew you 
a thousand grieving seeds.

Copyright © 2021 by Rachel Moritz. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 10, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.

Subscribe to the Poem-a-Day Podcast 

  

“This poem comes out of some writing I did last year about coming of age in the late 80s/early 90s. When I was teenager, I read about the murder of Rebecca Wight while she was camping with her girlfriend Claudia Brennan a few hours away from the town where I lived. I’ve thought about this story many times since, especially in connection to my first (hidden) relationship in high school. What did exposure mean then as a queer kid? What residue of fear is always with me? Theirs was an important and courageous story.”
—Rachel Moritz