Beth Bachmann


Beneath the bridge, swallows mold the mask
of a woman’s face,
clustering mud and tufts of hair dredged up
from a ditch,
leaving an interruption large enough to enter,
to spit wings,
which is an odd way to invoke annunciation,
a sudden blow.
The bones are narrow, so the birds take turns.
When it’s over,
the ground below whitens.

Beth Bachmann
“Nesting” first appeared in Black Warrior Review, 33:2.